


Before The Snow Melts

by Sunshine_Magnet



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Paint, Boston, Brooklyn, Craigslist personals, F/M, Happily Ever After, No Control, Snowmaggedon, Soho, Superhero Fetish, Window Sex, actually people magazine did, anne started it, blizzard of '15, cabin in the woods, erotic photographs, more inches of dick than snow, snow day booty call, trapped in a hotel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_Magnet/pseuds/Sunshine_Magnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're predicting the worst snowstorm to hit the northeast coast in ages. What better way to spend a snow day or two than to find a random hookup to pass the time with? </p>
<p>It all starts innocently enough. Anne sees an article about snow day personals and sends the link to Harry to give him a laugh. Little did she know it would turn into so much more....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Moms

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about adults looking for random hookups. While it may not be said (because who wants to read dialogue about condoms between strangers), let's assume everyone's safe and makes good choices, okay? Okay.
> 
> Special thanks to Loaded_Gun for writing Loueh's chapter and helping us with the rest. You da best!

They get together at least once a month for tea, these five ladies whose sons have bonded them together since primary school. Once the boys aged and moved out on their own, each mum looks forward to hearing all about their latest escapades.

Maura's Niall is the happy-go-lucky one, the one who could likely get away with a felony while charming the pants off the officer (male or female), and the one who is always up for an adventure. She knows he'll likely never settle down, and that's okay; her other son has given her a grandchild, who is plenty for her to handle. Niall lives south of London and tries to visit his mum frequently, but his job as a music scout often calls him away.

Karen's Liam is notoriously up-tight. He benefits from having such an out-going friend and business partner in Niall; the lads have done so well for themselves professionally. While Niall does a great job at keeping Liam on his toes, Karen longs for the day that Liam finds a woman who can do that for him. Liam still comes home every Sunday for dinner.

Trisha's Zayn might be floundering a bit. He's always been a quiet soul, but finding his (now ex) fiancée in bed with another man sent him off to the cabin he owns in Maine, where he buried himself in his art. As far as she knows, Zayn has hardly talked to anyone since then, including her. She makes a mental note to check in with him after tea. It's been some time since she saw him last; Zayn made a home and a name for himself in New York City and seems content to stay in the bustling city across the pond.

Anne's Harry is the glue of the group, the reason they all met in the first place. You see, when they were children, Harry was terrible at football, and the other boys knew it and bullied him. Their teacher made the boys teach Harry the fundamentals; he rewarded them with his mum's muffins, and the rest is history. These days, Harry also stays largely in New York, working as a freelance photographer. Harry's a curious one; Anne prefers to sometimes just turn the other cheek and stay oblivious to his, well, _interests_. Some of the photos he recently showed had her blushing.

Which leaves Jay's Louis, the absolute troublemaker of the bunch. Louis followed Zayn and Harry to New York, although what exactly he's doing remains a mystery to his mum… which leads her to believe he is probably up to no good. The less she knows, the better, but her mother's intuition is rarely wrong. She's glad he finally listened to her and broke up with his soul-sucking girlfriend, despite her other rumored "talents." They FaceTime at least twice a week.

"I can't believe all of the boys were stateside for that awful snowstorm. Did it affect any of them?" Jay asks, stirring another sugar into her tea. "Louis says the weather has been absolutely dreadful."

"Liam and Niall were stuck in Boston for a couple of extra nights after they closed their latest deal at work," Maura answers. "Niall said at least the hotel was nice."

"Among other things," Karen says quietly. "Liam said they, um, made a new friend. Didn't sound like they weren't starved for entertainment," Karen says, smiling but pink-cheeked.

"Neither was Louis," Jay says with amused tone. "And apparently he picked the blizzard to rally and kick the dreaded one out."

"Finally!" Anne high-fives Jay. "That girl was positively awful." Anne avoids eye contact with the ladies for a moment. "So did any of you hear about these personal ads that were going on during the snowstorm? I sent the link to Harry; I thought it was so funny, but apparently," she leans in to gossip but Trisha gasps, giving Anne pause.

"Zayn told me about this. He actually posted one." She covers her eyes. "I know he's a grown man, and he probably needed a diversion what with everything going on, but when he told me," she pauses, "I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Apparently he really got on with the young lady he met."

"Harry posted one, too," Anne giggles, shaking her head. "I told him not to tell me another word."

"I'm surprised that Niall didn't post one," Maura adds, wide-eyed.

Karen levels her. "That didn't stop him from looking at them."

"So did Liam, Karen," Maura clucks. "Might I mention they both benefitted," she smirks at her friend, using air quotes, "from the same ad?"

The women all chuckle and laugh, all babbling about their sons and their various escapades during the much-talked about blizzard. Jay sits and stirs her tea, listening to the conversation but not really contributing.

“Jay, you said Louis is single, now? How did he end up after kicking her out?” Maura’s face is wrinkled with concern, and Jay shakes her head. 

“You know my boy, you never know what he’s really up to. I’m certain he wasn’t alone, but whether he posted or called on an ad, I think I just don’t want to know. He just said he had an interesting weekend, and I left it at that.” There’s nodding and sounds of assent around the table. Although all of the women relish the close relationships they have with their sons, there are things sometimes that they wish they didn’t know.

Secrets.

Secrets that their sons tell them in confidence which they, in turn, share with each other when they meet once a month for tea. Some of the details stay between the mums and their boys, but over steaming mugs, they typically come spilling out.

London is a far distance away from the frigid northeastern United States; for now the boys’ secrets are safely wrapped around the women sitting at this little table in a quiet cafe.


	2. Harry

He doesn't see what everyone is making such a big deal about. It's just snow.

Well, it's been like 27" of snow in the last few weeks, which is a lot by anyone's estimates, but still. It's actually quite beautiful. He doesn't recall ever seeing this much snow back home. Harry sips his cooling latte, watching the bundled up people rush by, heads down and hands shoved in pockets, and he wonders where everyone is going. Work, home, shopping, the subway - part of the joy of living in New York City is the hustle and bustle, the frenetic pace that the city thrives upon.

His phone dings a special tone indicating an incoming message from his mum. Running his hand through his long hair, using his fingers to untangle some of the mess of curls brushing his shoulder, he huffs and flips it out of his face before picking up the phone to check the message. 

**Hi love, just checking in on you. Saw the news about the storm on the telly. You stay safe. Have you seen the bit about the Craigslist ads people are posting? It's quite humorous. Sounds like something Louis would do. Check out the link. xxx**

He clicks on the link his mum sent, a bit wary of the idea. After his eyes scroll down the list, he laughs. _People are nutters. Mum's right; it does look like something Louis would do._

**Hiiii, Mum. I'm out for my daily coffee, watching the city from the safety of the indoors. I haven't watched the news, but I don't need to - it's cold, it's snowing and the city is going absolutely mental. Maybe I will post an ad and make a new friend ;) xH**

Harry flips back to his browser and scrolls through a few more ads, laughing at some of the ones that are more forward than others. He copies his mum’s text and forwards it to the lads, knowing they would find it funny and possibly useful. 

He eyes his camera, sitting on the table next to his latte. He picks it up, adjusting the focus and aims outside, waiting for a subject to come into view. It doesn't take long; he snaps the shutter and captures the image of a child catching a snowflake on her tongue. Pleased with himself, he has a vision that within moments leads to a decision. He grabs a napkin and takes a pen out of his bag, scribbling some notes down before he loses his nerve.

**Seeking a Snow Day Subject, m4w, 21  
I'm a easy-going freelance photographer looking for a subject to follow for the next 24 hours. When the city shuts down, what will you do? Would like to display when the time is right. Submit a photo for consideration. SoHo.**

He adds a photo of himself, a few samples of his work, and a link to his Facebook page for good measure and posts the ad. 

When he gets to his two bedroom flat, Harry checks his email and finds a response to his ad. The girl doesn't really say anything in her response, just **Interested?** in the subject line with her phone number along with a black and white photo. The photo is exquisite, the sun shining on her bare shoulder, one leg tucked under her bum, the other stretched in front of her; her lean, naked body leaves just enough to the imagination. Her head is resting on her knee turned away from the camera looking out the window showing the sharp lines of her profile. _Yes, I'm definitely interested._

After another moment of analyzing the photo, he dials her number, fingers tapping anxiously on the table in front of him. He’s about to hang up, afraid he’s called the one person who doesn’t have voicemail when he’s saved from himself. “Hello?” The voice is soft, but assertive, with an air of teasing, making him think that maybe she had him wait on purpose. “Hello?”

“Hi!” He shakes his head, clearing the fog, clearing his throat from the lump that is wedged in his esophagus. “Hey there, I’m, um,” he stumbles, hair falling into his eyes. “I’m Harry, the photographer. The one who posted the ad.” He curses himself for sounding unsure. 

“Hi, Harry. I was wondering if you’d call.”

He’s not quite sure how to respond. “Yeah, um, well, I did.” _Idiot._ “It was a beautiful photo.”

“Not as good as yours,” she purrs. “I looked at your portfolio before I sent it. Thought you might get a kick out of a nude, since most of your models were clothed.”

“Only the ones in my online albums,” he snaps back, cheekily. “So I called because I was interested,” he sighs, wondering if this was all a terrible idea after all. 

“You were interested? Or you still are?” Her voice is quieter now, he notices.

_I still am._

“You know what? Maybe we should meet first? See if you’re really up for this?” Her voice is light, teasing, and quite frankly, it’s driving him mad.

“Of course I’m up for this, I’m the one that posted the ad,” he pouts. “Text me your address.”

“Fine. When do you want to start?” She sounds huffy now. “Will I get to keep some of the photos? If I even like them?” If he could see her right now, he’d place money that she just rolled her eyes.

He chuckles. “How about in a couple of hours? We’ll still have some daylight left, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, Harry. See you at two.” His phone dings immediately after the call is disconnected. Her address, which he recognizes as being only a couple of blocks from his place, appears in a text. He packs a duffle bag with a change of clothes and basic toiletries - even though they didn’t discuss it, Harry assumes he will be spending the night with this creature, so he wants to be prepared. He checks his camera bag, ensuring all of his lenses, memory cards, tripods, extra batteries and his laptop are secure, and they are - _they always are._

He starts second guessing everything _again_ , wondering what sort of girl would just respond to an ad like that, no questions asked. He almosts texts Louis, but talks himself out of it. Instead, he pours a glass of whisky and sips, waiting until it’s time for him to leave. The liquor helps - not only does it warm him from the inside out, but it also quells the niggling voice of doubt in his mind.

He finds her building easily and shuffles inside out of the snow, climbing the stairs to the 5th floor. As he goes to ring her buzzer, the door opens. Harry can feel his eyes widening and hopes he isn’t coming off as unprofessional, but. She’s _stunning_. He drops his bag to his feet and runs his fingers through his hair, the strands wet and probably a mess from the snow. 

“Right on time,” she grins, taking a step back, and giving him access.

“Did you expect anything less?” He follows her inside, taking a quick look around the small flat. 

“Not at all. I really didn’t have any expectations,” she shrugs, stepping into her galley of a kitchen. Harry studies her - long waves of honey golden hair resting on her shoulders, a thick tan scarf and long wool bohemian sweater over a denim button down and tights. Her red Hunter wellies make a funny noise as she moves about. “So, are you just going to follow me around and take pictures, or…” she drawls out, and Harry realizes he can’t place her accent. 

“Basically, that was the gist. I wanted to do a time-lapse project, showing 24 hours in the sleeping ‘City That Never Sleeps’,” he says, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders and onto the table. He opens the backpack, pulling out his favorite camera. “If that means we stay here, then we stay here. If you want to go somewhere, well, then I guess I’ll go with you, if that’s okay.”

She laughs. “Of course that’s okay. That’s what you wanted to do, right? Stalk me for the next day?”

Harry rolls his eyes. _Firecracker_. “It’s not stalking, really. You did agree to this when you sent me that photo and your number. And I do have a release here, allowing me to use the photos,” he rambles, pulling the piece of paper out of his backpack.

She nods. “Stalking, following, whatever,” she teases again. She stirs some sugar into her mug and glances at him from the pass-thru opening. “I have no problems signing your waiver, Harry. I’m not terribly modest, so either way, you won’t bother me at all.”

“Perfect,” Harry agrees, although a little unsure by her declarations, concludes that at least she’s not going to squash his last minute idea at a project. “So, let’s get started.” He frames her in his lens, hair spilling over her shoulders and a soft smile on her face as she acts bashful in front of his camera. He knows she’s acting, and that’s okay with him; he takes the shot anyway, a picture of innocence when he has a feeling she is anything but.

*********************  
In his head, when he started thinking about this project, he thought he’d take a few pictures each hour to catalogue a day in this stranger’s life. In the time he didn’t spend photographing, he thought he might be able to catch up on some light reading, so he brought his copy of ‘Delta of Venus’ to keep him entertained. His sister left it on her last visit, and Harry will read just about anything, including erotica.

She’s currently sitting next to him on the couch, blanket tossed over her lap, one hand holding the remote control and the other tucked under the blanket. It’s dusk outside and a lamp illuminates the room, casting a soft glow from the back while the light from the television is a bit garish, if you ask him. He sets his book down and picks up his camera, thinking the difference in the light could make an interesting juxtaposition on film.

They’ve done little talking, Harry content just to watch his subject in her home. She’s made some phone calls, checked her email a couple of times, and painted her toenails, before settling down on the couch. She fidgets with the remote control and looks over her shoulder at Harry. “Have anything you want to watch? I never really watch television; I’m hardly ever home,” she explains, holding the controller out to him.

“I’m a Netflix guy, myself. I find myself binge watching series and documentaries when I take the time,” he chuckles, wondering how much longer he really has to wait for the next season of House of Cards. 

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, and if he’s not mistaken, he sees a flash of a smirk on her face before she resumes staring at the screen. She flips some more, but Harry isn’t paying attention to the screen; he’s watching her. “I’m just gonna keep pretending you aren’t here,” she mutters, setting the remote down on the table next to her.

He hears the music, but what he sees is that she’s slouched down a bit and her legs have spread under the throw. He glances up to the television in time to see ‘Behind the Fifty Shades’’ flash on the screen and realizes its the title of whatever they’re watching. The narrator starts talking about the phenomenon. Harry arches his eyebrow. “Did you read it?”

She nods. “I read all three. I thought they were awful, but the sex was hot,” she shrugs. They get through the first few minutes of the documentary, an interview with the book’s author before she turns it off. “Not what I was expecting,” she huffs, back on the menu screen. She surfs around some more, settling on another choice.

“What would you say you’re looking for,” Harry asks, truly interested. All of that talk during the documentary about desires and passion has him seriously checking his libido and shifting around in his jeans. 

She chuckles and shakes her head. “I thought it was a bit obvious, Harry.” She turns to face him. “Let me put it to you like this. I want to get off.”

The blood from Harry’s brain makes a whooshing sound as it races to his cock. _Professional. I must remain professional._ Before he can speak, she beats him to it.

“I mean, I never get a snow day. I literally never have time to just be at home, alone, like this. I mean, not alone, because you’re here,” she rambles, and if Harry isn’t mistaken, she seems a bit nervous. “I just haven’t had a good orgasm in a while, and Goddamn it,” she curses, hitting herself on the leg, “You're just sitting there all long hair and long legs and I _need_ to get off.”

Harry watches her with an amused look on his face. “Well, I’m just here to watch,” he shrugs. “Do whatever you need to do.” This has definitely taken an interesting turn, he thinks, deciding that she’s the one that signed herself up for this little project. If she wants to get off, and wants _him_ to photograph it? Well, he’s not going to stop her.

He’s a twenty-one year old man, after all. He’s got some porn queued up on his laptop at this very moment that he could offer her, but he won’t. She’s found a new program to watch, fast forwarding through the opening credits and music. All he can hear is her increased breathing next to him. He brings his camera to his eye, seeing the blush spread up her neck onto her cheeks, and tries to capture her profile as she concentrates.

Harry glances up at the screen and wishes he hadn’t - one hot chick is getting eaten out by another hot chick while a guy directs them while holding a camera, much like the one in his own hands. _Shit_. He puts his camera in his lap, hoping it hides the hard-on he’s definitely sporting now. “You might want to watch this,” she purrs and shifts a little. Harry realizes she’s unbuttoned her blouse. _Shit_. He watches, transfixed, as her hand brushes across her chest, fingers dancing across the red lace of her bra. When he finally meets her face, he sees she’s turned her attention back to the television, albeit briefly. “Don’t you think this is kind of hot? Him telling them what to do? Taking pictures? Do you take pictures like this, Harry?”

He closes his eyes momentarily, focusing on his own breathing. “He’s doing what any photographer would by staging the shot,” he explains ridiculously, his voice raspy and much lower than normal. He coughs, clearing his throat. “I’ve taken pictures like that before, but prefer them to be unstaged.”

She turns toward him again, shrugging out of her shirt and reaching behind to unhook her bra. "You don't mind, do you?" He shakes his head and lifts his camera. Harry takes a photo with shaking hands before standing up to turn off the lamp in the room. It’s since grown dark outside so the only light now comes from the television, with its images of sex clearly displayed, as if on a jumbotron. He settles on the floor in front of her, arms resting on the coffee table next to her foot. He’s got the perfect view; to one side it’s the television, but to the other, it’s her.

She squirms and pushes the blanket off her lap, eyes trained on the television. Harry glances quickly and sees the photographer has moved in, eating one of the girls out while one is sucking his dick. _Professional. I am a professional._ Her foot brushes his arm, and he turns back to her, watching her wiggle out of her leggings, pushing them to her feet and kicking them onto the floor. _Red lace_. He takes another picture as she slides her hand inside her panties. “Tell me what to do, Harry,” she whispers. “Please? Stage me.”

He swallows and sits on his knees, leaning forward a bit, camera still in his hand. “Take it all off, then,” he says, surprised when she moves quickly to rid herself of her panties. He glances at the screen. “Finger yourself.” Her fingers move down, teasing her clit before pressing inside. “Are you getting off watching her getting licked out?” She nods. “Is it the guy or the girl that’s getting you off?” She adds a second finger to her first, lifting her hips.

“God, both,” she pants, eyes still fixed on the screen. “I want both,” she whines, grabbing at a nipple and giving it a twist. Harry takes another picture. 

“You want someone to suck on your clit while you suck on a cock?” The words coming from his mouth are filthy, but they seem to be working, so he doesn’t plan on stopping. He presses the heel of his hand into his crotch, needing some pressure on his cock before he explodes. “Play with your clit, yeah?”

She groans when her fingers slide out, her back arching when she presses down on her clit. Harry watches as she flicks the sensitive nub, using her delicate fingertips to pinch and knead herself closer to a release. He brings his camera up to his face. “Open your eyes. Look at me,” he says, training his camera on her eyes, hitting the shutter when he sees them flash darkly.

“Oh God,” she moans after hearing the shutter release. “Harry, please,” she begs.

He leans forward a bit more, fidgeting with the settings on his camera before setting it on the coffee table. He looks at her, then back at his camera’s view, before collecting some magazines and propping it up until he is satisfied with the placement. “Tell me what you want, love.” He may be a professional, but he’s also horny. His dick is currently winning every argument in his head over why he shouldn’t be doing this, why he shouldn’t be running his hands up her thighs, why he shouldn’t be replacing her fingers with his- 

“Suck me, please,” she groans again, inhaling sharply when Harry wastes no time, pressing forward and flicking her clit with his tongue. He spreads her legs with his hands, letting them rest against his shoulders as he sucks on her clit, thumbs holding her open for him. “Oh my God, yes, yes,” she cries, squirming under his touch. She threads her fingers through his hair, tugging on it gently. “Finger me,” she pants. “Use your fingers and fucking finger me.”

Harry teases her with one finger before sliding it in, her hips rocking forward to meet him. The unmistakable sound of people having sex wages on behind him but Harry remains focused. He adds a second finger, curling them and pressing against her, his tongue and teeth and lips still working her clit. “Fuck yes,” she cries, clutching at her breast, her nipple hard under her touch as she pinches it, relishing in the pleasure and pain. “Yes,” she hisses, her body shaking through its release. “Harry, Harry,” she babbles, pulling on his hair some, and he releases her clit from his mouth. Her eyes are wild, her hair a bit messier than it was before. “I want to suck your cock.”

She leans forward and pushes at his shoulders, toppling him over. He lays on his back and she straddles his hips; him still fully dressed beneath her naked body. She bends down, pressing her mouth to his, moaning when she tastes herself on his lips and tongue. “Wait,” he says, pushing her up. “Sit back on the couch.” She looks at him questioningly, but does what he says, going back to her original spot on the couch. Harry stands, pulling his sweater over his head, revealing a myriad of tattoos splattered across his skin. Her fingers trace patterns over his ink, over his skin before popping the button on his jeans free. He pushes her hands out of the way, taking both his briefs and his jeans down to his thighs, reaching for his cock and giving it a couple of strokes.

She winks at him and wraps her hand around the base of his dick, squeezing it. She bends forward, licking his head, teasing the underside with her tongue. Harry wills his legs not to shake. He tries to focus on her, her lips wrapped around him, her cheeks hollow, her eyes batting up at him occasionally, her hand cupping his balls, giving them a little tug. There’s moaning and grunts and groaning creating vibrations around his dick, accompanying Harry’s own sounds of pleasure. He glances over his shoulder and sees the photographer now fucking one of the hot chicks, her tits bouncing over the couch as he pounds into her. “That’s so hot,” she says, pulling off his cock, and Harry stares at her. “I mean, just taking her like that? Don’t you think that’s hot, Harry?” 

He hears her intent, the teasing tone hiding beneath a tone of lust. Harry hauls her to her feet and bends her over the arm of the couch. “Is this what you want?” He waits for an answer, smacking her ass when she takes too long. “I asked if this is what you want?”

“Yes,” she chuckles. “Fuck me,” she groans, letting her head drop and her ass stick up a bit, searching for him. He wastes no time, spreading her, teasing her with the head of his cock. “I’m clean,” she says in a quieter voice, sensing Harry’s hesitation. “Please, Harry, just fuck me.” He knows he can trust her; trust was implicit from the second she responded to his ad. He shoves his cock in, groaning at the immediate contact and sensations from the tightness, the warmth, the heat surrounding him. He hasn’t had sex without a condom in so long, he’s forgotten how wet and warm and tight it can be and _God_ , it’s good.

He pushes down on her spine, causing her back to arch beautifully. “That’s gonna look so good when I print it,” he murmurs, pumping into her. Her head pops up and she looks over her shoulder. “You heard me, now focus.” She drops her head again, and Harry can feel her fingers pressing on her clit, her fingernails grazing against his shaft. “Are you gonna come again?”

She nods. “Yeah.” She’s breathless, and Harry wishes he could see her face. Sex has always been _more_ to Harry than just a nameless fuck, but this time is just different. Being able to tell her what to do then having _her_ tell _him_ exactly what she wants is a complete turn-on; having his camera trained on them has amped up the excitement beyond anything he’s experienced before. Harry thinks briefly about the sorts of pictures he hopes he’s captured, and he loses it, coming with a roar.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, body shaking through the tremors of his orgasm. She giggles and lays down on the couch. 

“Come here and cuddle,” she says, making grabbing motions with her hands. “For an encore, I think I’m going to let you watch me get off with my vibrator while I suck your cock again,” she whispers as he crawls on top of her. “Once wasn’t nearly enough, and seriously, Harry, your dick deserves to be in pictures.” 

***************************** 

“Thank you all for coming,” Harry greets the crowd, tipping his wine glass. “So, these are photos I took during the massive blizzard, some taken over the course of a day, others taken throughout the brutal winter we all had.” He pauses as the crowd nods and chuckles. “I waited until now to display them, because I figured in this July heat we could use a reminder of just how miserable we all were,” he shrugs. 

“Doesn’t look like everyone was miserable,” a voice pipes up from the back of the room. The crowd disperses in the gallery to peruse Harry’s showings, and he walks toward the voice. _It’s her._ “I sure wasn’t.” 

“Hi,” he says, surprised to see her again, despite having sent her an email with the invitation to his showing. He stands next to her as she looks over the photos he’s blown up into actual pieces of art. There’s one of his head between her legs, her hand in his hair, her eyes closed as she’s coming… another of her looking up at him with his cock in her mouth… one of her flirting with him from bathroom, her reflection caught in the mirror showing love bites under her breasts… and one of his torso, covered in bubbles from her bathtub. 

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, looking at him with a gentle smile. “Just like I knew they would be.” 

“I’m, um, glad you came,” Harry says, shuffling his feet, but he is glad she came to his showing. He’s thought a lot about her in the last few months but never worked up the nerve to call or text. She didn’t disappoint his memory, showing up in a little black dress, revealing just enough skin for Harry to remember exactly what she tasted like. 

“Me too,” she says, and he sees it - she’s not as brash and forthcoming as she was on that winter day they first met. She’s softer somehow. 

“So,” he starts. 

“I have an idea,” she interrupts and he stops, motioning for her to continue. “Why don’t you do a summer sequel. What lovers do in the city when it’s so hot, there’s nothing else to do but be naked,” she lowers her voice, sliding her hand into his pocket. “Bring your camera.” 

When she leaves and the fog finally clears from his head, he tucks his hand in his pocket, feeling the scrap of lace she put there. He pulls it out, just enough to see that it’s red - the same red she wore the day they met. 

He absolutely goes to her flat that night… and the next night….and the one after that.... 


	3. Louis

It pretty much sounds the same as it always does. Only this time, it's obnoxious.

"You like that? Yeah, I know you like that, Louis. Do you want me to touch myself? I know what you like, baby, I know you love watching me," she moans, the sound officially grating to his ears.

It’s the same every time. Next, she’ll ask him to pinch her nipples, and honestly, he just doesn’t want to. It's old, he's tired, fuck it - he needs a change. _No, you know what? I really don't like any of this, actually, get the fuck off me._

He wonders briefly what would happen if he actually said that and shakes his head. She’s staring down at him, waiting, bouncing...

"It's not going to happen, sorry, Love. I just,” he stutters. “This snow thing," he says, gesturing towards the window as her bouncing continues. He feels nauseated from the constant movement and places his hands on her hips to try to still her. "I have, no, I need to get some stuff done. I need provisions." He grimaces at the random word - _provisions?_ \- and holds on a bit tighter, forcing her to stop gyrating on his dick. 

_Jesus, enough! I think I'm chafing._

She kicks a leg over him, flopping onto her back on the bed with her hands above her head. Her hair is an absolute mess, and her cheeks are pink while she tries to catch her breath. At one point in their relationship, he would've thought she was attractive, sexy, even adorable. Now? Not so much. "Are you fucking kidding me right now Louis? We were in the middle of fucking, and you... are what? Going to get provisions for a stupid snow storm?” The pitch of her voice rises, and it makes Louis’s skin crawl. “It's just snow, for crying out loud. It's not even a big deal." He hears her hit the bed after he gets up, turning on the shower to wash away the sex smell.

Funny. When they first started dating, he relished in that - the sex smell. Now? _Get it off._

The hot water does little to relieve the tension Louis feels in his shoulders and his back. He scrubs at his skin, thinking. How in the bloody _hell_ is he going to make it through this snow storm with his girlfriend? He bites back a sarcastic chuckle - it’s not like she’s even _really_ his girlfriend anymore, what with both of their schedules. This is the first time he’s seen her in a few weeks.

And all he wants her to do is leave. He's had enough, but can't actually kick her out at this moment. It would be a dick move. Being a dick isn't usually a big deal to him, except she would have no place to go in this damn storm. It’s all they’ve been talking about on the news - record snowfall amounts, blizzard conditions, travel warnings, et cetera. 

_Fuck it all_. Louis thinks maybe _he_ should go somewhere, instead.

He makes a mental list of places to go: 

1\. He could crash at his best friend’s - Harry's. Harry has a spot in SoHo; Louis is sure he can make it there before the public transportation stops for the evening. Hell, he’ll walk if he has to.

2\. You know, he _could_ kick her out, even if it is a dick move. It’s not like they really live together anymore. She’s got stuff piled around here, but when he’s gone, she normally stays with friends anyway. He puts this down as a last resort. 

3\. Find someone random. He wonders is his favorite bar is open. Fuck, _anything_ would be better than staying here with _her_.

He gets hard thinking about a random hook-up. He steps out of the shower and grabs his phone before even bothering to towel off. There's a text from Harry.

**Look what my mum just sent me! Strangely excited about this idea...**

Attached is a new story about people finding blizzard hookups, and Louis sees the whole thing as a sign. Other people are out there looking for the same reprieve. Just the thought of someone who won't bounce on him like he's a goddamn bouncy house at a kids party has him taking his cock in his hand. _Ha! A snowbunny to ride out the storm with. Excellent!_ He takes a picture of himself and his hard-on, pulls up his browser, posting an ad on Craigslist before second guessing himself. 

**_Snow Horny. 23 m4w. BKN.  
Masculine, handsome and very horny. Love kinky foreplay, but love fucking more. Snow and sex? Sounds like a great day off work to me! Let’s have some fun…. no pic, no response._ **

Now that’s been sorted, Louis starts planning. First things first, he’s got to get out of this apartment. He dresses quickly in a sweater, hoodie and skinny jeans, tugging on some lace-up boots since he plans on walking around in the mess that is outside. He throws a few essential items in a backpack - toothbrush, joggers, condoms and weed. When Louis steps out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he is fully braced for the argument waiting.

It’s oddly quiet, his girlfriend seemingly unmoved from where he last saw her - naked on the bed, head propped on her arm. He tries not to roll his eyes.

"Alright, I'm out going to the store to pick up some things, and I'm gonna try to get to Harry's for a bit. I’m planning on making it back before it gets really bad," he says, rushing his words as he walks through his apartment toward the door to avoid any confrontation. 

He doesn't walk fast enough. She pops up, swinging her legs over the bed and stands up, following after him. "That’s it? You’re just leaving?” The high pitched whine is back, and Louis is immediately annoyed. He puts his heavy jacket on, pulling a wool beanie out of his pocket and sliding it onto his head. “Fine! Go! I suppose you think I’ll just be here, waiting, _pining_ over you while you’re gone?" She laughs, and Louis can just feel the venom. "Maybe I will be, and maybe I won’t, but one thing is certain,” she huffs, throwing any soft object at Louis she can get her hands on. She may be a bit crazy, but she’s not actually vicious; Louis knows this. “I won't put out when you get back, Louis Tomlinson! Privileges are officially _revoked_ ," she screams as he gives her a sardonic look with one hand on the door. He pulls it open. “Seriously, Louis? You have no idea what you're about to do.” Despite her anger, Louis keeps moving forward, one foot stepping into the hallway. “You’re really doing this? Now? I can’t believe you!” Without a glance back, he slams the door, giving no response to her threats. 

_Relief._ Louis sighs when he steps into the quiet hallway, the tension he felt in his shoulders earlier dissipating. He checks his email as he makes his way down the four flights of steps in his building. Three responses are waiting for him. _That was quick._ The first one he opens doesn't have a photo and being the asshole he is, he deletes it. 

Hey - he said no pic, no response in his ad. 

He stops on one of the landings to open the next email. This one is an older woman, in her 40's. He's not against it, but that really wasn’t what he was thinking of when he wrote the ad earlier. He looks at the photo anyway, just to see what he is passing up. _Damn!_ She's hot, though the picture doesn’t show her face, but she has nice tits pushed up from a braless corset and fishnet stockings with garter belts keeping them in place. _It’s a shame to pass this one up._ He saves it in case there is nothing else that catches his eye. 

On the next landing, he opens the final email. This one is exactly what he's looking for: a beautiful young late twenty-something. Dark hair, big bright green eyes, thick, plump red lips slightly bitten between her teeth, and collarbones made for sucking pop out at him. He licks his lips as he ventures further down the photo. She's not wearing anything risque, no; in fact, she is wearing a little black strapless dress, a low v-cut neckline providing an ample view of her cleavage. Louis feels himself getting hard when he spies a peek-a-boo of ink under her breasts at the “v” in her dress. She has legs for days, and Louis is already imagining them wrapped around his neck, his waist, and his head. He can’t take his eyes off of the ink peeking out of bottom of the neck of that dress. 

He’s fully hard before he’s even left his building.

Once outside, he pulls his coat tighter around him, the wind whipping around the corner. _Fuck, it really is cold!_ He ducks into his favorite coffee shop, ordering one to go. While he waits, he types out a nice rejection to candidate number two, and calls the third candidate listed. He’s nervous, and almost loses his balls, _almost_ , but - 

"Hello?" The sweet voice sounds on the line before he can hang up. 

"Ello, this is, umm,” he stumbles. “Hi, this is Louis. I'm the one from the ad?" 

"Oh yes, hi.” She giggles. “Um, wow, your accent threw me off." She giggles again and Louis nearly groans - it’s throaty and mysterious, and _Jesus Christ, she’s said all of ten words and I’m almost hard. Again._ "So, I guess you’re calling because you’re interested? I wouldn’t normally do this, but you know the storm and all.” Her tone is unapologetic, and Louis kind of loves this chick already. 

He laughs, grabbing his coffee from the counter. "I think that was the whole point, innit? I can bring provisions, do you have any requests? To be honest it’s my first time, too," he says earnestly, using that word again just to gauge her reaction.

"Provisions? That’s such a great word!” Her laugh is a bit heartier this time, and the sound goes straight to his cock. _I’ve got to get out of here._ “Um, bring alcohol. Lots of alcohol and chips maybe? I have some stuff here already, just low on the booze.” Louis hears a noise; it sounds like she is shuffling around, looking in cabinets, and he thinks that is kind of cute. “You know what? We still have a few hours before the city officially closes up, do you want to get a drink at a pub or something first? You know, make sure it’s going to work out and all? There's one close to my apartment called the High Dive." She rambles on in a softer voice. “I also know a liquor store nearby. I have it on good authority that it's still open and stocked.”

Louis can tell she is a bit nervous, and to be honest, he is a little nervous too. It's not like he's ever done this before and feels a little comforted by her disclosure that she hasn’t either. "Alright then, sounds like a good plan. I know where the High Dive is, not far at all. We can meet and then shop for booze together. I can be there in 10 minutes." He keeps it short, and she agrees. They hang up, and he heads toward the bar. 

As he walks the ten blocks to the bar, he keeps his head down, hands buried in his pockets. It’s hopeless. Despite his efforts to cover up, he can still feel the wind on his cheeks, and he can't blink away the snowflakes stuck in his eyelashes. As he rounds the corner to bar, he sighs with joy and anticipation. _Fuck it’s cold._

The High Dive is a locals-only dive bar with cheap beers, good service, a great jukebox and free popcorn. Louis doesn’t frequent it, but has stopped in a few times with his mates. He stomps his feet to get the excess snow off his boots, before stepping through the doors into warmth and bar room chatter. It’s surprisingly busy with the threat of the storm, but he isn’t surprised.

He glances around and spots her almost immediately, sitting in a booth along the wall, nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold, trying to fix her mussed hair. Minus the slinky black dress, she looks quite like her picture, and Louis is impressed. _She’s really quite beautiful._ Louis takes off his jacket and moves toward the bar; he’s noticed she already has a drink, so he orders a Yuengling and two shots of Fireball before walking over to her. 

“Hi,” he says with a half smirk as he sits down in the chair across from her. “Come here often?” 

“Oh, hello. Actually, I do,” she smiles. “I live a few blocks down. Easy access, you know.” She winks at him for good measure. He nods.

“So, I’m Louis,” he says, setting his drinks down on the table between them and taking off his beanie. “I’m realizing you don’t quite know what my face looks like,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I got us a couple of shots to, um, warm us up a bit. I hope you don't mind Fireball?” He slides one of the shot glasses her way, pausing when her fingers brush against his as she grabs the glass. They both look up at the same time, eyes meeting and grinning. 

She giggles. “Well, Louis with the pretty cock, it’s a good thing you have a nice face, too.” She picks up the shot glass and holds it up to Louis for a toast. “Fireball is perfect, it’s been my new drink, lately. So, here’s to a new adventure, may we be happily wasted and sated when the blizzard releases us.” He smiles across the table at her, clinks his glass to hers and gives it a tap on the table for luck before shooting it back.

The burn of the cinnamon hits his throat, and he knows it will be a good night. They fall into easy conversation, constantly laughing at each other and bantering back and forth as they finish their beers. 

“Good stuff, another round before we go?” He asks as she finishes her beer. 

“Sure.” She pushes her empty glass over to him. “I’m having Yuengling.” _Interesting._ He grabs her glass and heads to the bar, ordering another round of beers and shots. As the bartender prepares them, he sticks a dollar in the jukebox and plays “Don’t Swallow the Cap” by The National. The music washes over the crowd, and everyone bobs their head along as they continue their conversations. Louis returns to the bar, paying the tab and grabbing the four glasses with as much care as he can muster.

On his way back to their booth, Louis pauses, taking a really good look at his new friend. Her dark hair rests on her shoulders in a slight curl, her lips are just as plump as they were in the picture she sent, her eyes concentrating on something on her phone. Louis says a silent prayer to have those lips wrapped around his dick at some point as the night progresses. His cock hardens a bit thinking about her lips on him; he shifts slightly in his walk adjusting himself without actually grabbing it in front of the whole bar, giving away what he is thinking about. 

He sits down next her this time so they don’t have to talk over the music. “So,” he picks up the shot glass in front of him and raises it to her with a quirk of his eyebrows for her to do the same. “Here’s to keeping warm in a stranger’s arms.” She laughs her deep throaty laugh immediately and slaps at his leg as they bang glasses and swallow their shots, staring at each other. 

“You’re funny.” She notes as she takes a drink of beer. “So, apparently Fireball will be on our shopping list. What else? I can cook dinner, I do have stuff for that at least.” Her words convey that she’s in for the evening, and Louis does an internal fist-bump.

“I’m good with that,” he nods. “Let’s get some beer, and maybe some crisps, yeah? That should do it.” He smiles at her and finishes off his beer. “You ‘bout ready? Looks like it’s starting to come a little harder out there,” he says as he licks his lips, anxious to get this show moving. 

She gives a nod taking the last drink of her beer, setting it on the table and pulling him closer by his collar. “Don’t think that’s the only thing that will come a little harder tonight. Let’s go.” She pushes on his thigh, giggling at Louis’s stunned reaction. He slides out of the booth and catches himself, his eyes wide, before he laughs at her forwardness. 

As they both pull on their coats, Louis watches her carefully. She’s wearing knee high boots, jeans, and a tight sweater with a studded black leather jacket. She pulls a scarf and beanie out of the pockets of her jacket and puts them on. “Don’t stare, it’s not polite,” she chides, “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” 

“Hey now, don’t bring me mum into this, knowing what’s about to happen,” he snaps back pulling his beanie out of his pocket and putting it on. He smiles when she laughs, and he wonders how it is really this easy. Fully covered and ready to weather the storm lurking outside, he puts his hand on the small of her back and leads her to the door. They cross the empty street to the grocery store and grab the items needed to make it through the night.

“How far away is your flat from here, then?” Louis moves a piece of hair out of her eye, while they stand in the massive check-out line at the store. Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to quit touching her. 

“Excuse me, what if I wanted hair in my eye, you know, getting stuck in my eyelashes, constantly tickeling my cheek and threatening to poke my eye out?” She jokes with him, big eyes looking at him, hands on her hips, a twinkling look in her eye despite her very obviously fake tirade.

“Oh, well, by all means then,” Louis laughs as he puts the strand and then some back so that it covers her whole face, laughing loudly and backing away slowly to protect himself from the feisty girl’s wrath. 

_So glad she suggested drinks so we could both loosen up._

Once they’ve paid - she insisted on splitting everything 50-50, and Louis wonders when the last time the girl at his flat did that (he refuses to think of her as his girlfriend) - they push through the doors and both gasp when the wind hits them. She gives a small chase, shuffling in front of him, which gives him a moment to appreciate her ass. Louis won’t let her get too far; he’s catching up quickly when she stops suddenly, spinning around to grab his arm and pull him into a doorway, blocking them from the wind and the snow. “You know, you think you’re funny,” she pokes his ribs with her finger, “don’t you?” She sticks her thigh between his legs leaning in so her face is even with his, licking her lips, at the same time lifting her leg ever so slowly to rub his growing erection. “Hmm, wonder if you did any false advertising with that picture you posted,” she murmurs and Louis bites back a laugh. 

_As if._ He drops the two bags he’s holding, and places his hands on her hips, pulling her flush to his body, bringing a hand up to push hair out of her face as he brushes his lips over hers. He trails his hand down her throat, grazing her tits, before settling on her plush ass, pulling her even closer, battling her tongue for dominance. 

The kiss heats quickly, but ends just as quickly, as they hear a throat clear when someone opens the door. Pulling away from each other as if they have been burned, dizzily correcting their clothing and catching their breath, Louis bends down to pick up his dropped sacks. They look at each other for the umpteenth time and bust out laughing. “Well then, _that_ was an interesting turn of events,” she breathes out between laughs. “Come on, let’s get out of here..” 

They make their way to the sidewalk once more, and Louis can’t help himself. He lifts one fist in the air like a pirate going to battle, yelling “To the liquor store!” 

She laughs, but follows in character. “Aye for the Fireball!” They grab hands and shuffle down the block in a hurry to get out of the cold. 

They are in and out of the liquor store quickly, collecting the cinnamon whisky and tucking it into one of the grocery bags. Louis takes the bags from her, carrying them in one hand and reaching for hers with his spare. She slips her glove-covered digits in between his, and they brave the elements outside. As they walk up, she explains how she owns the entire four-story brownstone, inheriting it from a relative a few years ago. She kept the “penthouse”, as she calls it, giggling at the ridiculousness of it, but still proud of her place; the rooftop is her secret treasure and, despite the snow, she gushes about it’s small garden and wonderful view. 

“You have a nice flat,” Louis says, letting out a low whistle as they cross the threshold.

“I love how you call it a flat,” she mocks his British accent - _miserably_ \- causing them both to laugh. They are met with warm air, and if it’s possible, they simultaneously sigh as they remove snow-covered boots and hats and coats and gloves, tossing them haphazardly on the little bench in her entryway. She takes the bags from Louis and moves into the kitchen, putting things in her refrigerator and assorted cabinets. “Feel free to look around,” she calls out to him, as he studies a myriad of picture frames hung in her hallway. “I think we’re past the part where you’d murder me, so go ahead and put your bag in one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall.” Louis laughs.

“You thought I’d murder you?” Her candor kind of catches him off guard, and he wants to laugh, but at the same time, he wants her to know that no, he is not a murderer.

She spins around to face him, and he moves in front of her, one hand steadying her. “I mean, you know,” she stutters. “I’ve seen the news. Ads on Craigslist don’t always have a happy ending,” she shrugs.

Louis smiles and pushes her hair back off her shoulders again. “This one won’t have a bad one.” He kisses her quickly on the corner of her mouth before spinning off to put his bag away.

Her flat has a long, narrow hallway, with dark wood floors. As Louis walks, he sees to his left, the kitchen, living and dining area; to his right, the loo; and at the end, two white doors on either side. He picks the one on his left and finds her office, the space tidy and functional (as if Louis actually knows what a home-office would look like; he sometimes plugs away from his couch). Across the hall is her bedroom, with crisp white walls and her white bed in the middle of the room as a center piece, the blue accents and pillows giving the room a pop of color. Louis can’t wait to see her smooth, tanned skin and dark hair splayed out in front of him on the white background. 

He’s jerked from his imagination when he feels her gently slide her arms around him from behind, hands gliding up to his chest, coming to stop at his shoulders. He drops his bag on the floor by the bedroom door and turns to face her, finding her smiling up at him as her hand moves to cup his growing erection. 

“I bet I know what you were thinking about, Louis, you naughty boy.” she says softly, hand rubbing his dick. “You were thinking about fucking me in my bed, weren’t you?” She licks his neck and sucks on his earlobe as she increases the pressure of her hand. She whispers, “Mmmm, you may have to wait for that. I think we have three other rooms to christen first.” At that, she slaps him on the ass and slowly saunters down the hallway toward the kitchen, leaving him gaping, stunned, hard, and wanting. 

He shakes his head, clears his throat and follows after her like a lion stalking his prey. He sneaks up behind her as she looks out the window. She lets out a squeal as he scoops her up over his shoulder and hauls her into the living area. “Didn’t anyone tell you that teasing is not nice? I won’t stand for it at all.” His grip tightens on her ass as she wiggles and struggles to get away. He ignores her pleas and chuckles. “Looks like I have a predicament here,” he tuts, spinning around in a circle while she hits his ass with her hand. “This window looks like the perfect spot to release some tension.”

“Oh,” she grunts as he plops her down on the small window seat, leaving her at eye-level with his throbbing cock. She bites her lip and looks up at him innocently, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. “Well, whatever will we do with this?” She giggles as she moves her hands to his waistband, toying with the button. Louis grabs her wrist, stilling her movements.

“I’m not ready for that just yet, love,” he warns as he pulls her up gently by her wrist. He spins her as if they are dancing, stopping her as she faces the window. “Hands up.” She follows his instruction and puts her palms on the windows, glancing over her shoulder to look at Louis. The stance causes her ass to jut out, and she wiggles it slightly to tease him. Louis closes in over her, molding his body to hers; he nips at her neck. “Don’t move, love. Just look outside and watch the snow fall in the street lights,” he tells her softly, his lips brushing against her ear. His hands move under her sweater, meeting a thinner layer, so he removes the sweater in one quick swoop, leaving her in just a tank top. He stands back looking at her, dark hair cascading down her back, hands braced against the window and tattoos scattered down her right arm; his dick grows even harder, if possible. Louis wonders for a moment if any blood is circulating through any other part of his body, or if it's all centrally located in his dick at the moment. 

He closes back in on her, careful not to touch her with his body, afraid he might explode. He takes his time, moving his hands up her rib cage, tracing over the ridges slowly. She shivers when his hands move to her tits, palms massaging them and fingers grazing her nipples. Her breathing accelerates as he slowly circles her hard nipples with his fingertips before pinching each, eliciting a sharp gasp. She tries to turn her head to see him, but he stops her. “Ah ah ah, love, keep looking outside.” His hands move to her jeans, fingers deftly undoing the button and lowering the zipper. Louis squeezes her hips tightly as he brushes against her, his denim-covered cock seeing friction against her ass. He lets out a groan of pleasure with the friction. 

"Shit," she whispers as he slides his right hand down the front of her jeans to cup her already wet heat; his left hand presses against her soft tummy, pushing her further back into him. He works her jeans down for better access to her dripping wet pussy while holding her tightly against his body. He slides a finger through her slick folds, before dipping first one and then another inside her, pumping them as his palm brushes her clit. 

"Fu.. so fucking good, don't stop, God don't stop," she pants as her head falls backwards to Louis' shoulder, leaving her neck open. Louis strikes, immediately turning his head to breathe her in, licking his way up her neck and sucking on her earlobe. He places a chaste kiss behind her ear, causing her to moan, the tone low and sexy in the quiet room. 

"Fuck, love, you're wet, so wet." Louis releases his hold on her waist and shoves his jeans down his thighs, releasing his throbbing dick. He grips himself, forearm pumping, prepping him for her. "I'm going to fuck you so hard. I can't wait much longer to get inside that hot little cunt of yours,” he babbles, rubbing his cock over her ass. “You feel good around my fingers, I bet you’ll feel even better on my cock." He starts fumbling with her jeans, and she takes the hint, helping him tug the tight denim down. She steps out of them quickly, and Louis pushes her panties to the side, teasing her hole with his dick. “Bend over.” She bends at the waist, hands still on the window, and Louis sinks inside. 

He slides into her wetness with ease, causing them to groan in unison at the feeling. He begins slowly, but loses his composure quickly. He starts thrusting hard, using his hands to hold her hips still as he pushes harder and harder into her. She is spewing delicious moans of pleasure as filthy words slip through her sweet lips. He feels her walls begin to tighten around him as he continues, driving deeper. He reaches his arm around and goes to work massaging and pinching her soft mound, pushing her over the edge. The only sounds in the room are heavy breaths, mumbled pleasures and bodies slapping together. She gasps, "Cum, oh my, I'm going to cum, so fucking good. So hard." She whimpers when Louis slows down, trying to delay her release, when her legs start to quiver. 

He wraps his arm around her waist pulling her flush to him, pausing, pushing her panties down her legs. He picks her up and spins their bodies so he can sit on the window bench. She lifts off of him as she tries to step out of her panties and kick them away; she settles back in his lap, sliding down his cock at a snail’s pace. The weight of her being on top pushes him even deeper inside her throbbing pussy. Taking a moment to adjust to the new position, Louis groans when her walls begin to squeeze around his thick cock, the sensation urging him to move. Guiding her with his hands on her hips, they begin to move again, almost in unison. 

She relishes in the feel of him filling her up as she begins rocking slowly. She moves slow enough so they both feel every inch of each other. Her hips rise almost all the way off of him before descending back down. Louis watches her plump ass as she works it up and down his solid shaft. “Yeah, just like that,” he moans, the slow movement driving him crazy. His head lolls backwards, and his eyes roll back. He's close. He can feel her control slipping as she begins to move faster and more erratically, her hands grasping his knees for leverage. Louis begins thrusting up, meeting her, and her walls begin to squeeze him.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” she whines. “It’s so good. I’m..” Her orgasm hits at that moment. Her pussy throbbing around him sends him over the edge as he loses control. His legs stiffen and his grip loosens as he cums, the weight of her leaning on his chest welcome, keeping him tethered to this spot as his body continues to convulse with pleasure. They both gasp for air, struggling to calm themselves in the chill of the window seat. She rises up off of him slowly and turns around, straddling his lap gently as they both float in this post-release haze they’ve created. 

“So good, love,” he smiles, breathing in her hair, her skin, both of which smell like snow and cinnamon and sex and _her_.

“Wow. That was just. Wow,” she says softly, almost as if it was for herself, lazily drawing a star on the window in the fog created by her breath. She slowly moves to stand, and groans at the tightness already setting into her muscles. 

Louis admires her ass as she bends over to retrieve her clothes. “Your ass is perfect, like a perfect plump apple,” he says, leaning forward and nibbling at her skin. She shrieks, and he pulls her closer to him. “Let me have a little bite, love,” he quips as she dances away, sliding her panties up her legs. 

“Uh uh, no sir, nope… you will not be biting my ass,” she giggles, wagging a finger at him when she turns back looking over her shoulder and smiling. “How about a beer? We didn’t buy apples, I’m afraid,” she says, shimmying into her jeans. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little parched.” she gives a tight swallow, puts her hand to her throat and squints her eyes to show just how parched she is, as she prances into the kitchen on her toes.

Louis stands up, reaching for his jeans at his feet and pulling them up quickly. He smoothes out his sweater before following after her. “If you won’t let me have my wicked way with you, then yes, I suppose a beer sounds delicious, thanks.” He gives her a light tap on the ass as she stoops to get the beer out of the fridge. They pop the tops and tap the bottles. “Cheers, love.” he greets as he pushes past her to get his joggers out of his bag. 

He pulls out his joggers, sending a quick text to let his inconvenient house guest know he will be weathering the storm at a friend's, then turns off his phone before changing and heading back into the kitchen. There’s quiet music playing in the background as she hums, gathering things from her cabinets to prepare dinner. It looks like the most natural thing in the world, this girl, moving about after he’s just barely gotten his fill of her only steps away. Louis hops up on the counter, feet dangling, as he settles in to watch her cook. 

They spend the rest of the evening drinking beer, snacking on food, and watching the storm outside, their banter and conversation easy, as if they've been friends for years. As night passes into morning, they lay on her couch and cuddle without a single thought of the outside world.

____________________________

He startles awake on the sofa, bleary eyes looking around at his surroundings, searching for a clock to see the time. With one eye closed and one open, he spots the numbers on the cable box and strains to make them out. 4:15 AM. “Damn,” he whispers to himself, trying not to wake the sleeping woman on top of him. He brushes his fingers through her hair gently, before sliding out from under her and standing up. 

He makes a quick stop in the loo before toeing into her bedroom. There, he turns her bed down and fluffs the pillows before returning back to the couch. He slides his arms under her and picks her up bridal style, kissing her softly when she startles awake. “Shhhh, I've got you, love. Go back to sleep.” He gives her another kiss on the cheek and moves to put her to bed. Once he has her tucked in, he climbs in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close, burying his nose in her hair. He tries with no avail to calm his dick, but in this situation, with this woman, it seems to have a mind of its own. 

He softly moves his hand up her rib cage to her ample breasts, and begins slowly circling her nipple. He loves the feel of it hardening under his touch. He knows she's awake, he can hear that her breathing has changed, and her legs are struggling to stay still under his teasing. “Mmm, Louis, don’t tease me,” she moans with a struggle. She tangles her legs through and around his, to prevent from kicking them about. His fingers continue paying attention to her nipple, and he begins to rock against her ass giving his cock much needed friction, despite her weak protests. 

“I like the way you squirm,” he whispers against her ear, causing her to shiver as he finally pinches down on her nipple hard. 

“Yes,” she hisses, her back arching and her hand sliding behind her to grab his shaft. She strokes him a few times before twisting her body around to face him, switching hands and throwing her leg up around his hip, pulling him in closer. Her hand continues its work on his member; she leans in and kisses him frantically - all teeth and tongue and spit as he thrusts in time with her hand. 

He moves to his knees, bringing the sheets with him and pushing them down somewhere in the general vicinity of his feet; Louis rolls her to her back and slides her to the center of the bed. He sits back on his knees a moment, staring at her splayed out in front of him, all dark hair and tan skin against the white backdrop, exactly as he imagined it would be. What he didn’t take into account was how bright the outside light would be - not just from the street lamps, but from the heavy coating of snow turning everything white. “Fucking beautiful.” He licks his lips and pulls her leg up, kissing her calf and resting it on his shoulder, before moving to kiss the area behind her knee. He moves further up her thigh, giving a small nibble and lick on her skin before placing her leg gently back on the bed.

He slides his hands up both her legs, using his thumbs to press firmly on the inside as he goes; his right hand stops at her center, one finger darting out to slide along her folds in a slow tease, up and down through her slick wetness, applying the tiniest bit of pressure on her clit as he passes it. He lifts her left leg to his shoulder and begins kissing his way up. He slides a finger into her center, pumping it a few times as he sucks on the skin behind her knee. He adds a finger, moving them faster, in and out, pumping, as he bites her thigh and tongues his way down to her center to replace his fingers with his mouth. 

“Ohh, oh God, Lou,” she babbles, attempting to string syllables together to no avail. “Fuck me, please, that’s, yeah, like that,” she struggles and threads her hands through his hair, bringing his face closer to her pulsing pussy. He pushes her legs back to open them further, hunkering down, licking, sucking and tongue fucking her beautiful cunt, as her tangy juices run down his chin. She glances down at him and loses control, thrusting up to meet his movements. It’s not long before he feels her muscles tense, her legs stretch out tight, long, made longer by her pointing her toes, and she begins to push his head away, screaming out as her body convulses in orgasm. 

Louis kisses his way up her body, biting on her hip bones, hands exploring, spending time on each breast as she comes down from her haze, her body shivering with each of his movements. He kisses her neck and sucks her protruding collarbones as her breathing slows to a more steady rate. He presses his mouth to hers, and she pulls his tongue into hers, sucking on it, savoring the flavor that is uniquely _her_. 

She pushes herself back into the pillows, pulling her knees up as she sits, challenging him to a bit of a staring contest. Louis sits on his heels, his hand lazily pumping his cock as he allows her to look her fill. She squirms in front of him, and he watches her fingers tighten around a pillowcase, turning white from her grip. “Pretty girl, I could eat you all night,” he whispers, his normal voice far too loud for this moment. “Your pussy is so pretty, so sweet and tangy in all the right ways. I love that I can still smell you on me.” She is watching him jerk himself, and he actually sees her pussy flex with anticipation and need as she bites her lip harder, hands reaching out to help him. Deflecting her help, he grabs her hand and places it on her tits instead. “That’s right, love, make them harder.” 

He scoots up closer to her hot center, close enough to rub his straining head between her folds, guiding it and pushing his length against her clit, priming them both for what is about to come. Pulling her closer to him, Louis moves her to where she is straddling his waist as he lines up ready to penetrate her to the core. He raises himself and slides in to her dripping, hot cunt with a grunt. Holding on to her back, he begins to pump, guiding her up and down, rising up to meet her every downward motion. 

He watches as her tits bounce, trying to catch a nipple with his mouth but failing and settling for her collarbones and neck as they continue this tight pushing and pulling of each other. Her pussy squeezes him like a vice, and he wonders if he can just stay there, hot and pulsing, inside her.

Wanting to get deeper, he pushes her onto her back, staying on his knees. He pulls one of her legs to his shoulder and presses harder into her. His hips hit her thighs violently, and he feels the tightening in his balls foreshadowing his orgasm. “Shhi… Fuhh, Cuuh, I’m gonna,” he tries to warn before it happens, but the feeling is so good and so intense, it falls short. 

“God, me too,” she moans, and her eyes roll back as her head thrashes about. "Fuck Louis, cum on my tits," she begs. "I wanna see you cum on my tits.” He pulls out and pumps himself dry, shooting long, hot streams of his seed on her chest and stomach. Louis falls back onto his back, arms spread, knees still bent, feet under him, dick slowly melting to rest on his thigh. It's a bit uncomfortable but moving is not worth the effort, as he is sated and breathless. She moves, and he hears her, but it doesn’t register until she pulls his legs out from under him and snuggles into his arm as a pillow. 

“I have no words for what just happened,” she murmurs, sighing happily. Louis moves the arm she isn’t pinning down over his body limply, holding a finger to her lips. 

"Shhhh, let's bask in the glory,” he says with a huff of a laugh before squeezing her into a tight bear hug. 

She giggles with him as they wrap up in each others heat and fall into a peaceful sleep. 

_______________________

 

It’s been three weeks since Louis last got laid. He’s had a rough few weeks. The aftermath of staying out during that bloody snowstorm _(Juno, what even is that?)_ was equal to that of, shall we say the Cold War. His phone was full of angry texts and voice messages from his (now ex) girlfriend, when he finally surfaced the morning after. _Pfft._

He never disclosed the reason he posted the Craigslist ad, which was to get away from the downward spiral of a relationship he was in. Looking back, at the time, he decided it would ruin any chance he had at maybe seeing her again, because he did want to see her again. So, he (for once) kept his mouth shut. One night was not enough, and even though he wanted more, he left the following day and went back to his empty apartment. _I’m not sure I could ever get enough._

Louis has since removed the roadblock, cleaning her and all remnants of her from his flat. _Good fucking riddance._ He also hasn’t contacted the girl since that night, but not because he didn't want to. He’s brought her number up a few times to send a text, but usually ends up discarding it and throwing his phone on the ground somewhere. He’s trying to leave it to chance - they live ten blocks from each other, you would think they would run into each other at some point. 

“Louis, are you okay, mate?” Harry asks, slapping him on the back. "You seem a bit distracted lately. Is it the girl again?” He looks at Louis expecting an answer, finding Louis tying his shoe and shaking his head. 

“Naw mate, just a bit frustrated.” _Understatement of the century._ They both stand up, ready to head out for a night of debauchery. Harry stretches, leaving himself wide open for a signature “Tommo Ball Tap,” and Louis doesn't disappoint. Harry immediately folds over, grabbing his nuts, groaning in pain. Louis bounces off through the door. “Come on mate, let’s get pissed.” 

They head out to a local bar, but what Harry doesn’t know is, it’s the bar - the one where he met her, the one he has visited much more frequently since that day in hopes of bumping into her. “Where to tonight then, since you refuse to acknowledge my questions and want to act like a childish twat?" Harry says, lips puckered in faux disdain as he follows Louis down the sidewalk.

“Somewhere new tonight, Harold. I feel like a change of scenery. Let’s see where the sidewalk takes us, somewhere gritty and local, yeah?” Louis says this as if he doesn’t know exactly where he will lead them, hoping maybe his thoughts are convincing enough for Harry. He's still following him on the sidewalk, so Louis thinks it must have worked. It may not be the first place they stop, but they will drop by the High Dive, and Louis promises himself: he won't be gutted if she isn’t there.

The night flies by, filled with beers, shots, darts and bar hopping through Brooklyn. They are a block away from the High Dive, and Louis sobers some, feeling anxious and nervous to cross the threshold. Harry is half way through the door when he looks back to see that Louis isn't following. “Oi, Louis, are you coming? I’m thirsty! Beer me, mate, it’s your round.” 

“Aye, hold your horses, Harry, I’m coming, ya lush.” Pushing through his nerves, and by Harry, to the bartender to order a round, Louis keeps his head down, purposely not checking out the clientele. Tapping his fingers on the bar as he waits for his drinks, he starts to look around, seeing random groups of regulars, hearing Van Morrison playing on the jukebox, but not one is his girl.

He sighs as the bartender finally returns with his drinks, “Thanks mate," he offers, grabbing the Jameson shots, handing one to Harry and clinking the glasses together. They both tap the bar for luck before shooting them back, both automatically reaching for the cold beers to cool the fire in their throats. “Cheers!” 

“So, do you come here often?” The soft words he hears when he turns back to the bar to sit his drink down cause him to fumble, his beer hitting the edge of the bar and spilling across the top, making a mess of things. He doesn’t even get embarrassed; he just turns toward the direction of the voice. 

He stares, wide-eyed, a semi-smirk forming as he sees the owner of the voice - those jade green eyes, crinkling with a smile, staring back at him. His heart jumps in his chest, beating frantically. 

Once he regains his composure, he steps closer to her and pulls her in for a gentle hug. "Just a time or two. Last time though," he licks his lips, leans in to whisper in her ear, "last time left me craving more...." He lets the sentence drop off, not really knowing how to finish it. He was in fact craving her, not just for sex; somehow, in the short time they were together, she set him on fire.

Louis is a private person; he prides himself on letting only a select few past the carefully constructed walls around him. This girl, though? She’s like a fucking hurricane, wreaking havoc in his brain, despite the fact that they only spent one night together. Louis focuses on her, her stare expectant. “Hmm,” she hums, the sound sending a ripple straight through him. “Craving _what_ , exactly?” She goads, poking him in the ribs. 

Jumping away from her attacking finger, Louis gives her a genuine smile. “Popcorn of course. Who doesn’t love free popcorn?” Louis winks as he sticks his hand in the small bowl sitting in front of him. 

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Popcorn?” She teases, voice light as she puts her hands on her hips and arches an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, then, I’d really like to get some popcorn.” 

Harry stands behind Louis and smiles at the girl, clapping Louis between the shoulderblades. “Oi, Louis, I gotta go! Look at the time,” he says, looking at an arm devoid of any watch, but its not like Louis particularly cares. “Early shoot tomorrow,” he chuckles as he slaps a couple of bills down on the bar. He gives Louis a hug with a hard pat on the back, whispering words of encouragement, before walking out of the bar. 

Louis grabs the girls hand. “Come on, love, let’s get out of here.” 

“I’ve got popcorn at my place. Lots and lots of popcorn,” she giggles, as they rush to exit the bar. “Popcorn just _begging_ to be popped.”

Louis stops in the middle of the street, causing her to run into him and he turns, cupping her jaw and pressing his mouth to hers. From somewhere on the sidewalk, they can hear the sound of applause.


	4. Liam and Niall

_“A blizzard with the potential to set all-time snowfall records is bearing down on the East Coast…”_

Flip.

_“People from New York City to Boston are being told to prepare for the possibility of 30 inches or more of snow…”_

Flip.

_“Thousands of flights are grounded, public transportation has been suspended…”_

Flip.

“Dude, are you watching this?” Liam looks up from his spot on his bed, the voice of his business partner coming through their open adjoining doors.

_“Governor Baker has ordered a statewide travel ban effective at midnight tonight. Residents are urged to shelter in place…”_

“This is bullshit,” Liam huffs, annoyed. He stands, walking over to the open door between their hotel rooms. “So we’re stuck here until God knows when, basically.”

Niall nods, arms behind his head as he reclines up against the headboard of his bed. “Yep. Good thing we got the deal done, or I’d be right pissed,” he says with a smile. “Too bad we can't get out in it. I guess we order room service and watch some porn?”

Liam makes a face. “Um, you can do that on your own. Be sure to close the door for that.”

Niall laughs loudly and sits up from his previous reclined position. “You sure about that, mate? You might learn something.”

Liam shakes his head and goes back into his room. "I think I'm good, mate, thanks." He stands in front of the window, taking in the view the 16th floor offers him. He supposes the snow is quite lovely, all white and quiet, as the city below him is all but completely shut down. He sees a few brave souls on the sidewalks and wonders for a moment what they’re doing and where they’re going.

_“As this potentially record-setting blizzard threatens to confine urban dwellers to their homes for the next two days, some singles have taken to Craigslist to post personal ads in search of some winter romance…”_

“D’ya hear that, Payno?”

Liam turns around, trying to process the latest headline blaring from his television. 

_“From seeking out cuddling, to making out, to decidedly more adult things, Northerners are appealing to one another for a sexy port in the storm…”_

“I’m totally getting in on that,” Niall laughs from his room, and out of the corner of his eye, Liam can see that he’s up on his feet, digging into his laptop bag and pulling out his MacBook. "Ah ha! Just got a text from Harry about it! We have to do it, now." Liam's curiosity gets the better of him; he takes a seat next to Niall on the small sofa in his room, watching his colleague navigate onto the Craigslist singles page. “Want me to find you one, mate? A little snow bunny to take your mind off of the fact that we’ve been stuck in this God forsaken city for almost a week with no end in sight?” Niall elbows Liam in the side, a gesture meant to egg on his friend. Liam rolls his eyes, but watches with rapt attention as Niall clicks through the various personal ads.

“Oh my God, Leemo, read this one,” Niall points to his screen.

**_Snow in my mouth? w4m, 24  
Looks like the snow has started outside...but thinking about a hot boy blowing his white stuff on my face._ **

“Niall, no,” Liam says, horrified.

“She’s cute, though,” Niall shrugs, clicking his back browser and going to the main page.

“Click that one,” Liam points, his eyes catching the title.

**_Stuck in Beantown w4m, 20-ish  
Flight was cancelled, holed up in my hotel, bored out of my mind….and lonely. Looking for another business traveler in the Financial District, close to the Common to share dinner, drinks and maybe a little more…_ **

“Boring,” Niall drawls out, but Liam’s intrigued. He grabs Niall’s laptop under the premise of reading the ad a bit more carefully. “Oh, now you’re interested? Well, I guess she’s got a nice rack, from what we can see of her.”

Attached is a picture she’s obviously taken in a hotel bathroom; Liam recognizes it as one similar to that in his own hotel room. _Hmm. Coincidence?_ He can just see wisps of blonde hair on her shoulders, but the photo is of her body, clad in a button down blouse and a pencil skirt. Her jacket is on, and while her hot pink shirt is modest, it is unbuttoned lower than Liam supposes it might be for a meeting.

“Of course, pick the one that is dressed exactly like you are. What a fucking joke,” Niall scoffs as Liam holds his laptop hostage for the moment.

“Shut up, Horan. I’m sending her a message. She sounds,” Liam pauses while his fingers click away on the keyboard. “Nice.”

“Nice?” Niall laughs, head tilted back, loud and brash and Irish, and Liam kind of wants to choke him. “She put a booty call ad on Craigslist. Nothin’ nice about that.”

“She’s stuck here, just like we are,” Liam reasons. “Besides, that bathroom looks like ours. Maybe she’s right here in this hotel?”

“Maybe I’ll close my door then,” Niall snickers. “You have fun with that. Looks like loads of fun," he mutters.

Liam composes a quick message with his phone number, offering to send her a picture if she’s so inclined. He gives Niall back his computer and walks back into his room, closing the adjoining door just slightly to give himself a bit more privacy. In minutes, she’s sent him a text, and Liam snaps a ridiculous (if he must say) selfie in his bathroom. He’s still got his button down shirt on with his suit trousers; he didn’t want to change until he had his evening sorted. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal his few tattoos and he holds the camera so she can see his face.

He almost jumps when his phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey handsome," she purrs. "Nice pic."

"Yours too," Liam says, clearing his throat. 

"I have to say, your hotel looks familiar. You aren't at the Nine Zero, are you?" He hears a tinge of an accent, southern, he thinks, her words slow and a bit over pronounced.

"I am, actually. Stuck here until the storm lifts. You?"

"Same. I was supposed to fly home tonight, but it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere for a least another couple of days."

"So," Liam says, feeling a bit awkward. "Have you had dinner?"

"No," she exclaims with a giggle. "I'm starved. Want to meet downstairs?"

Fifteen minutes later, his hair is freshly quiffed, and his key card is in his pocket. He's ditched Niall, at least for a little bit; the Irishman deciding to stay in his room and order room service. When Liam strides into the Highball Lounge, he's taken aback momentarily by the sheer volume of people in the bar. There's hardly a seat to be had. He nearly panics, wondering what Plan B could be when he feels a tap on his shoulder. "Hi, handsome." He turns to face her, smiling when he meets her eyes. "Just as good looking in person," she purrs.

Her blonde hair is piled messily on her head, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. She's blushing and holding a glass of red wine. “Why, hello there," Liam says with a quiet laugh. "Nice to meet you."

He _never_ does anything like this; this is much more something Niall would do, not Liam. He tries for a second to channel his outgoing friend and wonders briefly "What would Niall do?" She interrupts his thought process by reaching for his hand. "I, um, got us a table. It's over here," she says, giving him a gentle tug.

They sit close to each other, under the premise of getting to know each other better in the loud bar. The wine flows freely, thanks to the attentive and sympathetic wait staff, and Liam feels himself loosening up after his third glass of red. He finds out that she travels frequently for her job, something to do with training medical professionals on a particular product; whatever she said sounded complicated, and Liam is only too happy to explain that he's in town to sign a new client for his music management firm. He mentions Niall briefly, and she says how nice it must be to not be traveling alone, especially under the circumstances.

He finds himself hanging onto her every word; she's quite captivating. After a bit, Liam almost forgets that they were complete strangers just an hour ago. They munch on some sashimi, and she asks Liam about London. When he's done telling her what he thinks she would be interested in (he's never met any of the royal family and yes, Harrods really is a shoppers paradise), he asks her where she's from. He's never been to Atlanta, but he thinks he wouldn't mind visiting it one day after her description of the lush green landscapes and bustling city.

She’s definitely flirting with him, and Liam has to admit, he’s trying his best to flirt back. It’s not like he hasn’t had girlfriends before; he knows how to talk to a woman. But picking up a stranger? Definitely new for him. He pushes all of that aside, acting like he’s known her longer than he has, choosing to focus instead on that delicious spot between her breasts that’s been revealed when another button came undone on her blouse.

"More wine?" She nods at his question, scooting a bit closer to him.

"Why don't we bring a bottle upstairs? Your room or mine?" Liam hides his shock by finishing the glass in front of him. He should've known this was coming; it _is_ why they both went trolling on Craigslist, after all, but he has to admit, her forwardness still catches him a bit off-guard.

"Let's go to mine," he suggests. "That way, it's on your terms, you know?"

She smiles and rests her hand on his thigh. "That's so sweet." Her fingers trail up his leg; Liam sits back, allowing her full access. " _You_ are so sweet. I bet you’d even make sure I came first, wouldn’t you?" He feels her tongue dart out, a soft kiss on his neck, and he shifts, trying to alleviate the pressure in his trousers from his hard-on. 

He knows she says it to shock him, but instead, he has to admit, it turns him on. This chick's a spitfire, and Liam is definitely interested to see where the night takes them. He places his hand over hers, guiding it to his rock-hard cock. "If you want to call the shots, I'm game." Her hand cups him over his trousers, and he manages to sign the check, putting the three bottles of wine on his room, knowing he will possibly have some explaining to do to the biddies in Accounts Payable when he gets back to the office, but not caring in the slightest.

She stands first, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. Liam gives her a little nudge forward, towards the exit. "Payno! Where ya going?"

Liam stops in his tracks, dragging his friend back a step. He can tell he’s been drinking, but Niall’s Irish. He’s normally drinking. "Niall," he greets through gritted teeth. "We are just, um," he flushes.

"Ooh, hello," she greets with a smile. "Are you the business partner?"

Niall nods and laughs at the sight of them. "Are you the Craigslist girl?" He looks her up and down, completely ignoring the look of ire on Liam's face. "You are. Same rack."

"Good-bye, Niall," Liam says, plotting at least three ways to kill the Irishman in his sleep.

"Whoa whoa whoa, not so fast, Leemo," Niall chuckles. "What's the rush?"

Liam groans. He is _not_ going to get stuck in this bar talking to Niall. 

"You know, we were just going to go upstairs and get a bit more comfortable," she says, stepping between the men. "Liam told me that you two have been stuck here for awhile now. Maybe you need a little snow snuggling, too," she giggles.

"Are you offering? In that case, let's go," Niall laughs and threads his arm through hers, pulling the two of them towards the elevators.

_What? What the fuck?_ Liam follows, wide-eyed, speechless. "Niall, um, no." He can't even thread a sentence together, he's so annoyed, but Niall and the woman laugh.

"Liam, babe," she says, pulling him aside as they wait for the elevator. "Look, I like you and think you are sexy as hell," she purrs then shrugs. "Your friend is cute, too. It's one night, we’re literally snowed in, and we've had some drinks trying to make the best of it..." She looks at Niall, then back to Liam. "Nothing has to happen, or we can have a little fun. You said you were game, earlier," she says, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout, and Liam almost laughs when she bats her eyelashes at him.

_What. The. Fuck._ Liam's always been a one woman sort of man. He looks at Niall and ignores his shit-eating smirk on his face. _She wants to have fun? I can show her some fun._ "Let's go."

The elevator ride is tense, as the trio shares the space with a few other people. Niall stands with his arms folded across his chest, eyeing Liam as he pulls the woman to stand in front of him. Niall cocks an eyebrow and chuckles quietly, shaking his head. In the hallway to their rooms, Niall stops Liam just as he opens the door to his room. “Darlin’, why don’t you go on in and make yourself comfortable. Open up the wine,” Niall instructs. “Liam and I will be right in.”

She considers both gentleman, first looking at Niall from head to toe, then she does the same to Liam. She gives Liam a questioning look but nods, stepping inside the room with the bottle of wine they swiped from the bar. Liam tries to relax, rolling his head around to relieve some of the tension while he waits for Niall to speak.

“You’re mad,” Niall states.

“I’m not,” Liam huffs. “I forgot how you like to swoop in and steal the girl.”

“That was one time, Jesus,” Niall chuckles under his breath, raking a hand through his blond hair and shaking his head. “Look, she’s a lot prettier in person than she was in that photo. She offered. What did you expect me to do?” He shifts his weight as Liam maintains his steely gaze. “I was totally coming down to pick up a chick, Liam, and not your chick. I’ll go back down if you want, but,” he stalls, looking at the propped open door.

“Niall,” Liam starts, unsure what to say. He doesn’t want to hurt Niall’s feelings, he really doesn’t (Liam is sensitive like that); and it might be childish, but he has _dibs_. 

“Boys?” They both turn to Liam’s door, which is now open just a crack. 

Legs. Skin. Lace. Liam’s brain goes into overload as he attempts to process the fact that there is a sexy blonde standing in his hotel room, with the door open, in her bra and panties. “Payno? It’s your call,” Niall says in a low voice, his eyes fixated on their guest.

“Just fucking go,” Liam says, shoving Niall forward and into his room. 

She pushes Liam up against the door once it is shut, pressing her body against his. “Kiss me,” she challenges, her hand tight on his shirt, threatening to rip off the buttons in her grasp. Another thing Liam likes to do is please, so he sets out to do just that - he cups her neck and pulls her up on her toes so he can kiss her properly.

Lips, tongue, teeth - it heats up quickly; Liam can feel his cock getting harder in his trousers, and he’s certain she can feel it, too. He _knows_ she can feel how hard he is when she grinds against him. “Fuck, that’s hot. Ride him.” Niall’s voice startles him, but only for a second; the woman in black lace pressed against him takes his full attention.

“Touch me.” His hands go to her breasts, perky under the lace. He teases, bringing her nipples to peaks under his touch before breaking away from her to lean down and flick them with his tongue.

“Take it off.” Niall is up, behind her, pressed against her, deftly undoing her bra and sliding it down her arms. While Liam pays attention to her nipples, he sees Niall’s hand slide down her stomach into her panties. She arches her back in offering - her tits to Liam and her pussy to Niall, and now, it all makes sense. They can _both_ please her. 

“Bed.” They stumble toward the king-sized bed, hands pulling at buttons and toes working at heels of shoes and trousers sliding down legs. Niall slurps at his fingers obscenely; Liam tries not to focus on his mate, but, for some reason, he doesn’t feel awkward.

He’s turned on. _This is insane._

“She tastes good.” Liam eyes Niall warily, trying not to get distracted before this whole thing gets started. Liam sits on the bed, watching her move about. Before she joins him on the bed, she slides her panties down her legs, stepping out of them gingerly and giving the boys a playful smirk.

“You’re both a bit overdressed,” she gestures to their boxers with a manicured nail. Niall is faster than Liam, but they both remove their shorts, eager, _anticipating_. “Hmm,” she taps her lip, looking at Liam, then Niall, and back to Liam. “Who do I want first?” Her tone is teasing, and Liam’s cock jumps. She giggles and sinks to her knees in front of him, looking up at him from under her thick eyelashes. “How about I make myself comfortable here," she drawls out with her hand on Liam's cock. "Niall, you look like you might want me to sit on your face," she whispers, as Niall gets off the bed, maneuvering to lay beneath her. She glances at Liam, who is wide-eyed. "Is this okay?”

“It’s fucking perfect, yes,” Liam pants as she kisses the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to swipe the bead of liquid at his slit. "Fuck yes," he groans as she swallows him down, his cock hitting the back of her throat. It's warm and wet and fucking heaven, if he's honest with himself. In the ranks of blowjobs, this is up there in the top three, easily. Her hand wraps around the base of him, giving him a little squeeze before she massages his balls. Liam watches with rapt attention as she bobs up and down, her whole body in motion. He remembers that Niall is below her (hey, out of sight, out of mind); the thought that she is getting off has Liam thinking of slightly more unattractive things to stave off his impending orgasm.

Watching this girl work over his dick is really quite a sight. She moans and slows down a bit, her pink tongue flicking out and licking down his shaft. He watches her try to concentrate, but her focus is decidedly absent. "Oh my God," she breathes. "Oh my God," she chants again. Liam is transfixed. "I'm gonna-"

He hears Niall moan, and she squeals, her hand pumping his dick in a frantic rhythm. Her body shakes, and she takes him back in her mouth, riding her own orgasm out. Watching her come, watching as her cheeks flushed and her body shook and her nipples hardened, has Liam on edge. 

He wants to fuck her.

She pulls off of his cock with a quiet pop. "I thought you'd never ask," she winks with a sassy smile. "How do you want me?" She stands slowly, hands moving from Liam's thighs up his chest to his shoulders. She places a kiss on his lips, her tongue sliding against his in a sensual dance. 

Liam threads his fingers through her hair at her neck before pulling just far enough away to speak. "On your knees. Maybe you can show Niall what you can do with your mouth." 

"So generous of you." She enunciates each word with a kiss before climbing up on the bed. It's obscene, how she tosses a glance over her shoulder to the men, as if challenging them to get into place. A couple of hours ago, she was a buttoned-up business traveler, enjoying a glass of wine at the bar, comparing travels with him; now she looks like the stuff dreams are made of. Liam's snapped from his thoughts when he catches Niall move to the other side of the bed. He approaches her as he does everything - with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a cocky smirk on his face. He puts his hand on her jaw, leaning forward to kiss her.

Liam's a single bloke; it's safe to say he's watched his fair share of porn and had a modest amount of sex. Watching one of his best mates make out with the blonde, _who is waiting to be fucked_ ; let's just say that Liam's discovering he just might have a voyeuristic side, after all.

He grabs his trousers, fishing his emergency condom out of his wallet, ripping the foil with his teeth and rolling the latex down his shaft. He watches her kiss her way down Niall's chest, his hand still caressing her cheek, guiding her down to his own straining dick. She wiggles her ass at Liam, and he takes the bait, squeezing the plump globes as he gets behind her. He spreads her open, sliding a finger over her slit, collecting her wetness. He can't resist bringing his finger to his mouth; her heady flavor, a mixture of musk and sweetness, has him groaning.

"Fuck," Niall swears, his hips rocking forward as she takes him in deep. It's the cue Liam needs, pumping his cock and teasing her pussy with the head of it. She whines and pushes back, trying to force him deeper, but Liam is relishing in teasing her a bit.

He finally gives in, and _God_ , she feels amazing. There’s a slick slide as he steadies his rhythm; the threesome moan collectively as each of them relish in the pleasure. Liam closes his eyes and listens - his skin slapping against hers, her quiet slurps, Niall’s assorted words mixing with his own.

_Fuck yes._

_You feel so good._

_Suck that dick._

_Holy shit._

_Shit, shit, shit._

Niall comes with a roar, his hips breaking their rhythm as he pumps faster into her mouth, his body shivering when he finally reaches his release. He steps back, his eyes focusing not only on the girl, but on his friend, and Liam heats under the sudden attention. He looks back down at the girl, admiring the curve of her spine, noticing, maybe for the first time, the intricate design of her tattoo, one of thin lines and geometric patterns.

“Yes, God, yes,” she pants, and Liam realizes she’s touching her clit, working herself toward another release. Her fingernail scrapes against his cock as he pistons his hips. She spreads her legs just a fraction of an inch, tilting her hips, giving him a different angle, and with that, she’s a writhing mess under him. She moans again, and Liam feels the tightening in his balls, the fire in his belly igniting and raging into an inferno. 

“Come for him, let him feel you,” Niall coaches, now kneeling in front of her, his face close to hers. He kisses her, and Liam feels her shatter, her walls clenching around him as his own hips speed up to follow her into the abyss. He shudders with his release, coming so hard he sees little white spots in his vision.

She collapses onto the bed, and Niall whispers words into her ear, running his fingers through her hair, which has come completely loose now. She rolls over, breathing heavily, cheeks pink, and smiles at Liam, reaching for his hand. He quickly ties off the condom, and throws it in the general direction of the bin, laying down next to her, willing his own heart rate to slow down back into safe, acceptable levels. “Holy shit,” he breathes.

“You guys, that was fucking awesome,” Niall chuckles, crawling up on the bed on the other side of the girl, creating a sandwich...and suddenly Liam is hungry.

Not for food.

For her.

_How the fuck is that possible?_ Liam feels like a man possessed, his nerve endings still tingling, but he wants to taste her. He props himself up on his arm to look at her, his fingertips circling around her nipples and bringing them to peaks within mere seconds. “Is it still snowing?” 

She giggles and leans her head back, over the edge of the bed so she can look up at the window. The sheer curtain is drawn, and Liam’s not sure she can see from that angle, but he laughs anyway. “I’m gonna go with yes,” she guesses, squirming her way back into her previous position on the bed between the men. “Why, did you just remember someplace else you’d rather be? Somewhere to go?” She teases as she runs a fingernail down his bicep.

Liam looks at Niall and raises an eyebrow in silent question. “I’m thinking,” he drawls out, teasing. “I’m thinking I have enough energy to go again if Niall’s up to it,” he challenges.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I could go all night,” Niall says seriously, one hand coming around her hip and sliding down towards her pussy. He teases her with his finger, and she closes her eyes. Liam leans in to kiss her, relishing in the way her mouth tastes and how it moves perfectly in sync with his.

“Let’s go.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**What about California the week of the 5th?**

**I'll be in St. Louis.**

**I've also got Miami the week of the 19th.**

**I'll be in Fort Lauderdale from the 22nd to the 23rd. Fly out Friday night. You?**

**Friday am. Bring something for dinner and a night out.**

Every month, they play the game, exchanging dates in calendars that rarely sync up. They've only connected once since Boston; a quick fuck in the pay-by-the-hour airport suites in Philadelphia between flights a few weeks ago has Liam itching to see her properly again.

It was supposed to only be one night.

And in many ways, Boston with her was just one night....Miami will be just one or two _more nights_ , not a bunch in a row.

His phone chirps again. 

It's a picture of a very small bikini.

**Bring your suit and stay the weekend with me. I hear it's hot in Miami.**

"Dude, what's with the grin," Niall says as he slides into the seat next to him at the conference table.

Liam shakes his head. "Nothing."

Niall laughs. "Shite," he curses. "It's finally working out to see her again, isn't it? It's only been, what, four months since you've seen her?"

Liam stifles a cough. "Two." He ignores the surprised look on Niall's face and silences his phone.

"Really?" Niall laughs at Liam's non-answer. "Okay, fine, but you do talk to her," Niall waves his hand for Liam to continue. "More than your mom, these days, I'm willing to bet."

"I still talk to my mom every day." He flips Niall off and texts her back. "I just talk to her, too."

**I'll change my flight to Sunday night.**

"Are you going to tell your mom about this trip?" Niall teases, and Liam chuckles. He's always been close to his mom; he thought Niall was going to have a heart attack when she asked if he'd enjoyed cuddling with Liam's new friend.

He'd left out that they were all naked, but his mom is a smart woman; Liam figures she made her own conclusions, especially after Niall nearly spit out his tea.

"Probably," Liam laughs, knowing he'll tell her tonight when they chat. 

Which will be right _after_ he Skypes with his girl, but he won't tell Niall that.


	5. Zayn

Every radio station is droning on and on about the impending 'snowpocalypse', so Zayn switches to his iPod. He's heard the same report over and over. Blizzard conditions moving in by mid-afternoon tomorrow, three feet of snow expected, stay inside, yada yada yada. He's scheduled to meet his pilot at the private hangar in Bangor at ten p.m. tonight, leaving him plenty of time to finish the painting that has been itching to move from his brain to canvas since he woke to dreary, gray skies. It's not like New York City will be in much better shape, so if he gets stuck, it's just more time for him to work.

All morning, Zayn works feverishly. Time and the outside world cease to exist until his Scooby Doo text tone and hunger pains pull him out of his head and away from his work. Grumbling incoherently, he grabs his phone and checks his messages. 

**Mate ur goin home before the storm rite?**

He's been neglecting his mates for a couple of weeks, holing himself up in his vacation cabin just outside the Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor to lose himself in his art. He'd needed the time away. Catching his fiancée with another man brought home something he'd been trying to ignore for months - they were growing apart. So, after surveying the tangle of bodies in his bed dispassionately, he'd leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed, fixed his signature bored look on his face, and told her, "I'm leaving town for a bit. You have two weeks to get out."

He'd nonchalantly turned on his heel to walk out when her shrill voice pierced his ears. "I'm keeping the ring!"

He'd just kept walking. He didn't care. He didn't need the money. She kept screaming, and he kept walking. The lack of feeling was bothersome then, and it still bothers him a couple of weeks later. He'd planned to marry this shrew. A few weeks in the country to clear his head sounded like the best idea he'd had in ages. He'd shot off a couple of texts, informing those who actually mattered that he was, as of that moment, single and headed out of town. He shut off his phone and took off.

After hearing the forecast, he finally turned his phone back on to arrange transportation home and to let his friends know when he'd be back. It was no surprise to have a text from Niall, the glue of his group of friends.

**Yeah mate, leavin tnite**

**Good! Ya ok?**

**All good**

And he is. He slaps together a sandwich, wolfs it down, and picks up his brush, intending to lose himself again. Before he can, he gets one more message. 

**HA mate check out what Harry sent me! Maybe u cud find a friend ta keep ya company? (winky face emoji)**

Zayn rolls his eyes at the Craigslist link but taps it anyway. He's got to admit, Niall's humor is contagious, even via text. The ads of people looking for hookups during the storm are amusing. He shakes his head and turns back to the canvas. 

The idea keeps teasing him; possible ad blurbs floating through his head. He can't concentrate enough to sink back into colorful oblivion. Dropping his head and brush in defeat, he boots up his laptop and brings up the site. Maybe a quick, meaningless fling will burn the last ties to his ex, banish any spirit she might have left behind in his apartment. Yes, that sounds perfect. A one-night stand waiting for him when he gets home? Sign him up. Before he can second guess himself, he types up his ad and posts it, heart pounding, and goes back to his therapy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She lets out a string of curse words to mask a shiver of apprehension when she realizes her car is dead. Dead as a doornail, whatever that is. The flakes that were so pretty earlier, lazily falling out of the sky, are piling up on the rapidly cooling vehicle at an alarming rate. According to Siri, she's still several miles from the nearest town and even further from Bangor and the airport where she'd booked a flight home to LaGuardia, hoping to miss the blizzard that apparently had other ideas.

Peering outside, trying to make out shapes through the curtain of white and dim, late afternoon light, she feels the cold creeping in already. She should have known better than to waste time looking at the link texted to her with " **omg we HAVE to do this** " followed by a string of laughing emojis. The constant buzzing of her phone as her friends replied with varying degrees of laughter, incredulity and possibilities kept her attention off the clock. The Craigslist ads of people looking for hookups back in the city during the blizzard had her giggling and rolling her eyes. 

Well, except for one.

The ad seeking a snow bunny to smoke blunts and chill with _maybe_ had her crossing her legs to relieve some tension. She'd never admit it, but the idea of a random hookup with a hot stranger is a bit of a fantasy for her. Throw in a good high? She may talk herself into sending a response when she gets home.

So, instead of leaving for the airport early, she stalls, texting her girls and scanning the ads, giggling all the while, until she absolutely has to leave. Ordinarily, the lack of major highways leading to the city wouldn’t bother her (it's _Maine_ , for fucks sake, the scenery is to _die_ for) but her procrastination has left her in this horror-story-damsel-in-distress-type predicament (possibly literally _to die for_ ). Now she's stuck in a broken down car in the snow, and all she can see are vague outlines of trees and white. Everywhere. 

She tries Roadside Assistance and receives the expected answer. It'll be a couple of hours before anyone can try to get to her. There are wrecks and breakdowns all over the state. In short, she's told to take a number and wait her turn. Opening her map app, she zooms in on her location, hoping to see _something_ within walking distance. A short, thin line branching off the road a small distance ahead gives her a glimmer of hope. It looks to be close enough that she can get back to the car with little trouble if it turns out to be nothing.

Shrugging into her bright purple parka, she glances down at her flannel and leggings, hoping they'll be enough protection against the cold. ' _At least they're fleece lined_ ,' she thinks. Never has she been more grateful for her preference for comfort. Her army style boots should be perfect for a trek through snow, much more so than the heeled knee-highs she'd briefly considered. Hefting her huge tote over her shoulder, she climbs out into the bitter cold, locks the car, and heads toward the line on the map. 

Turns out, she was right to chance the walk. The thin line, she discovers, is a driveway leading to a cozy, inviting cabin. A cloud of smoke from a rock chimney trails to the sky, disappearing into the thick snow; a warm glow lights up the windows, and she smiles. It's an idyllic setting straight out of a painting. Walking across the wide porch, she knocks on the door, all the while praying, ' _Please don't be an axe murderer, please don't be a_....'

Her thoughts stutter to a halt when the door swings open to reveal a man _(Mother of God, he's gorgeous)_ \- a _scowling_ man, who barks out, "What!" when his eyes land on her bedraggled form.

She sucks in a harsh breath, startled at his sudden appearance, his outright hostility sparking a similar response. "No need to be rude!"

"I'm in the middle of something here. Who are you, and what do you want?" His frown is fierce, his almost golden eyes sparkling in irritation. He's focused on her face, glaring. The look in his eyes is intense. She can't pull her gaze away.

She absolutely should not be having this physical reaction to a man she's never laid eyes on; a man who is obviously without manners or social skills; a man who has plump, pink lips that are sexy, even turned upside down; _heaven help her_ , a man with thick, black as soot hair just begging- wait. Pulling herself together, she snaps. "Look. This is _not_ a social visit, dude. As you can see," she waves her hands around, "there's a blizzard going on. My car broke down a ways down the road, and I was hoping you’d have some common decency and get me out of the weather until I can get a tow!"

Blinking eyelids rimmed with the most sinful set of black lashes she's ever seen, he looks around her at the white landscape as if seeing it for the first time. "I knew it was coming," he murmurs quietly. "I didn't expect it quite so soon. I was planning to leave as soon as....” he stalls. “I'm sorry, I’ve been in a zone, working. When I get like that, I hate being interrupted. Please, come in, dry off by the fire. I’m Zayn, you must be freezing." 

Zayn is flustered. He didn’t realize the weather had worsened so fast, and now this beautiful spitfire is on his doorstep, teeth chattering, looking for hospitality he isn’t used to providing. At least, he _thinks_ she’s beautiful. Her face is partially obscured by wet strands of hair and a fur-trimmed hood.

_His voice._ Velvet dipped in melted chocolate. _Holy shit. And that accent?_ Swallowing the drool that has pooled in her mouth, she walks into a beautifully decorated living room - slash - studio. There's an easel set up in the middle of the room, under a skylight, with a canvas propped on it. The drop cloth on the floor is covered in bright splatters of paint. 

Zayn's eyes follow the woman as she strolls into his house; her round, pert ass peeking out below the hem of her parka holds his attention. The thick, chestnut curls that appear when she pushes the hood back look like silk, sparking a need to capture the color in oils, or maybe just with his fingers. Closing the door to the cold, he asks politely, "Can I get you a hot drink? Tea? Coffee?"

She turns to face him in front of the fireplace, pulling off her parka and draping it on the adjacent overstuffed chair. The glow behind her seems to surround her, giving her a sensual aura, setting the almost invisible red highlights in her hair on fire. _Definitely beautiful._ Zayn's dick twitches. He hopes she can't tell. 

"Coffee sounds amazing," she says with a moan. Her husky voice has him swelling behind his zipper. He really hopes she can't tell. 

"I'll go put a pot on."

The smile he gives her nearly makes her knees buckle. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ He moves to the kitchen area, picking up his phone on the way. She turns back to the fire, crouching down to pull off her wet boots and socks, spreading them out to dry on the hearth. His deep, smooth murmurs wash over her; the sounds of a pot of coffee being started make her feel oddly at home.

Zayn calls his pilot, telling him to go back to his hotel to wait out the storm, and busies himself making coffee, trying to get the blood flow going to his brain and out of his pants. He doesn't know this woman, but she has him off balance. Although, this is almost exactly what he'd posted the ad for- _No. Don't go there. That's not why she's here._

She stands to face him, watching him pour two mugs of dark, steaming liquid. He looks up at her pensively, lip caught between teeth, and she gasps. The strand of hair falling over his forehead, the wet lips turned rosy from his teeth- her body rebels against her common sense, and heat starts building low in her belly. Shaking herself out of a trance, she realizes he's asked her a question. "I'm sorry, what?"

Zayn smirks. He knows that look. Mentally willing his dick down, he repeats himself, holding up a bottle of whiskey. "Would you like a shot for a little extra heat?"

Before she can answer, the power goes out. With a squeak, she answers, "Yes, please. Thank God you have a fireplace." 

With a curse, he sets the bottle down. Opening a drawer in front of him, he pulls out a box of matches. "Here, light any candles you see. I'm gonna bring more wood in." 

Catching the matches tossed her way, she watches him pull on a red beanie and leather jacket. He moves to open the back door, but she stops him when her phone beeps, signaling a dying battery. "Is your laptop charged enough for me to plug in my phone for a few minutes? I need it to know when the tow truck is headed my way."

"Of course, sure," Zayn waves a hand at the open laptop on the coffee table. "Make yourself at home." He gives her a sweet smile and turns to walk out. She sees him pause, his back stiffening slightly, before he steps onto the covered porch. Eyebrow raised, she returns to where she'd dropped her bag, digging through it to find her cord. 

Taking a seat on the fire warmed, black leather couch _(He has a thing for black. It's damned sexy.)_ , she plugs into the laptop, waking it up. The ad on the open webpage has her eyes bugging. She reads it again, making sure she understands the words and the content. _Holy shit. Are you kidding me? Dude wanting to smoke blunts with a snow bunny is HIM?!_ What the hell is her luck? Taking a page from her rambunctious friends, she pulls up the ad on her phone _(ok, maybe she never closed it)_ and sends a cheeky reply, taking a few extra seconds to take a selfie and attach it, not giving herself time to think things through. It's too prime of an opportunity to let second thoughts get in the way. 

Zayn prays he's remembered to close out that ad and tiptoes to the pile of split wood, almost tap dancing, the icy boards cold against his bare feet. Grabbing an armful, he skips through the back door, toeing it closed, shivering, when his phone pings. He makes a neat stack on the hearth, adding a few logs to the bright fire, lips quirking at the sight of a pair of nearly dry socks covered in Superman symbols. 

"Superman?" he teases, standing, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

"Supergirl, thankyouverymuch," she corrects playfully, watching his face as he checks his notification. She nearly giggles when his jaw goes slack, and his eyes fly up to meet hers. Tucking a foot under her knee, hands folded primly in her lap, the smile she gives him can only be described as feline. 

Cheeks reddening, Zayn bites his lip, embarrassed. "I was really hoping I'd closed that." 

"I'm really glad you hadn't." _Is that my voice? Am I PURRING?!_ "It’s fate, really."

Zayn takes a step closer. She's piqued his curiosity. The suggestive tone in her raspy voice has piqued his libido. "You don't say. And why is that?" 

The fingers clasped in her lap tighten at the flash in his eye. He looks almost dangerous. She feels herself growing wet. "Well, you see," she pauses as he takes another step. _I am definitely purring._ Swallowing, heart speeding up, she continues. "A friend of mine sent me a link earlier, to a bunch of Craigslist ads of people looking for snow flings...." She trails off, eyes following his long, thin, paint covered fingers as they slowly unzip his black leather jacket, shoulders rolling as he shrugs out of it. _Oh, God. Breathe._ "And so, uh, one caught my eye. I had half a thought to respond when I got back to New York...." _Oh, dear God._ The threadbare, white tee he's wearing is almost transparent in the glow from the fireplace. She notices tattoos. Lots of tattoos. Her mouth goes dry. 

Zayn takes one more step, stopping less than a foot from her knee. He knows what ad she's talking about, but he's having a hard time believing it. He feels his cock fatten, pressing painfully against his fly, certain he'll have an imprint along the length of his dick. "And?"

Trailing eyes up the long, lean form in front of her, she finishes her tale. "And it was an ad from a guy looking for a snow bunny to smoke blunts and chill with." 

"Fate, hmm?" Zayn strokes the scruff on his chin. Her eyes follow his motions. His dick hardens more, if possible. What are the chances, really? "So, what now?" He's putting this in her hands. She's stuck with him in the middle of nowhere. He's not going to pressure her, scare her. 

"I suppose the coffee is too cool, now." She sighs in disappointment. "How about some whiskey? That should warm us up nicely." Zayn nods, and moves to the kitchen. "And maybe one of those blunts, if you have any here?"

He looks up sharply. "Are you sure?"

She nods at once. "I just got stranded in the middle of a blizzard. I could use some mellow." The thought of being stuck in a cold car has shivers running over her again. 

Accepting the glass snifter of clear, brown liquor, she takes a sip and watches as he sits beside her and slides a slim, wood box from under the sofa. He pulls out the necessities, fingers deftly breaking up a growing pile of green herbs before sprinkling it in a waiting wrap. She licks her lips when he runs his tongue along the seam to seal the paper and hums, "Mmm grape."

He watches her from under his lashes, his eyes following her tongue as she watches him finish the process. An image flashes in his mind of her spread out, open to him, against a bed of color, waiting for him, for his mouth. Taking a healthy gulp of liquor, he hands her the blunt and a Zippo. 

Zayn leans back against the plush cushions, trying to ease the pressure in his pants. The sight of her concentration as she lights the blunt held between her pink lips is not helping his resolve. She sinks back, relaxing, as she exhales a cloud of smoke, legs stretching out, purple-tipped toes wiggling. Taking the blunt she passes to him, he's equal parts charmed and turned on. 

Popping up off the couch before he moves in on her, Zayn looks around for something to occupy his hands. The easel. His painting. His eyes skitter around the room, landing on a huge piece of canvas leaning against the wall in a corner. He once had a vision of painting his fiancée and using the print of her body as the focus of a piece, going so far as stretching canvas around a plywood board and stapling it down, before abandoning the project. The image he'd envisioned a minute ago comes back to him full force, albeit with a different female form, bringing with it a renewed excitement for the idea.

Moving the easel and canvas out of the way, Zayn looks at this auburn haired, green eyed beauty, whom he was apparently fated to meet, with a question in his eyes. Taking a hit before moving back to stand in front of her and passing off the smoke, he asks "How adventurous are you feeling?" 

Hands steady, she inhales deeply, letting the intoxicatingly delicious mellow wash through her before replying. Heavy-lidded emeralds meet glowing, black fringed topaz. "You know what? I think I'm open to anything. What do you have in mind?"

He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "It may require a shower later," he warns with a raised eyebrow. 

" _Anything_ ," she reiterates.

He takes the blunt from her. "I want to paint you." Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

"Okay?" Not exactly what she had in mind, but she's intrigued.

"I mean, I want to paint _you_. I want a print of your body," he gestures to the canvas in the corner, "your _naked_ body on that canvas."

“Oh.” _Oh._ The heat of the fire - or is it inside her? - is overwhelming. She takes a moment before she sits up, slowly unbuttoning her flannel.

His eyes follow her fingers, gold darkening to bronze, lips quirking up at the sight of another Superman _(excuse me, Supergirl)_ symbol planted between two perfect, bright blue lace covered breasts. 

"Supergirl is my new favorite hero." The gritty glee in his voice sets off tremors in her core.

Impatience starting to eat at her, she hooks her thumbs into the waist of her leggings and starts tugging them down.

"Wait." Zayn stubs out the blunt, pushes the coffee table to the side and kneels in front of her, whipping off his tee, almost _(but not quite)_ dislodging his beanie. He looks like a scruffy skater boy. He’s the epitome of every fantasy she’s ever had rolled into one. She wants to plant her lips on the center of his chest, right over the lips tattooed there. "Let me. Please." His hands cover hers, fingers flexing, as he waits for her answer. _So polite. So considerate._ She wants to plant her lips on _every_ tattoo.

An almost imperceptible nod and the lift of her hips is all the encouragement he needs. He smooths his hands down her thighs, taking the leggings with him, pulling them off. Her knees fall open slightly at the sight of him sitting in front of her, his hooded eyes staring up at her, his gaze hungry. 

_Matching panties. God._ Zayn nearly groans, taking a deep, even breath. 

It takes every ounce of willpower he has, but he leaves her sitting there in her Supergirl lingerie to lay the thin, canvas covered plywood in front of the fire. He picks up the discarded matches and lights candles around the room. Arranging paints and brushes on the coffee table, Zayn is satisfied with the set up. The anticipation thrumming through his veins is heady. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the whiskey, but he doesn't recall his ex ever affecting him like this. 

He takes her hands, pulling her to her feet. Lace tipped breasts scrape against his naked chest, igniting a fire. Hot fingers reach around to unclasp her bra, careful not to touch any more than necessary, afraid that the tenuous grasp on his self control will snap at the feel of her silky skin. Holding tightly to his resolve, Zayn slips fingers under the straps, lightly tracing her arms as he takes her bra off. His hands return to hers, walking her to the center of the room. His eyes never leave her rose-tipped breasts, swaying with each step.

She stands proudly, hands at her sides, and lets him drink his fill, unabashedly naked in front of him. She's never felt so comfortable with herself. The open appreciation in his eyes gives her a bravado she's unused to. 

Returning the appreciation, she takes in golden skin and a myriad of tattoos covering a lean, muscular torso. Stonewashed jeans hang low on his slim hips, his boxers visible above the waistband, hugging a nicely cut V. A light dusting of hair trails from his belly button down, disappearing into a white, elastic band.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he circles around her. Glancing over her shoulder at the sound of his groan, she finds his gaze on her ass, or more specifically, on the Supergirl symbol connecting the strands of her thong at the base of her spine. His hand lifts, palm out, but he stops himself before he makes contact. She can't help the disappointed whimper that escapes. His careful control is driving her body temperature higher and bringing out a need to see him lose it. Preferably all over her.

"Can you pin your hair up somehow? I don't want to get paint in it." His voice is strained. The idea of damaging those locks is almost painful to him. He wants to feel them draped over his stomach as she kisses her way down…. _Don’t go there. Yet._

"Do you have…,” she asks, glancing around. “Yes. May I?" She picks up a round tipped brush for his approval. 

Fascinated, he hums his consent. She twists her hair into a bun on top of her head, holding it in place - magically? -by threading the brush through. The graceful arch of her neck seems to be begging for his lips. Zayn is entranced. 

She glances back at him. Her voice, hoarse with desire, wreaks havoc on his willpower when she quotes one of her favorite movies. "Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack."

He can't stop himself. He steps up behind her and presses his lips to the pulse visibly beating through the vein in her neck, his tongue darting out to have a taste. "You don't know how hot your Supergirl panties make me," he murmurs into her neck. Before he can stop himself, he traces the 'S' situated just below the dimples at the small of her back. She shivers at the contact. 

Slowly, with infinite patience, he peels the strings down, pressing light kisses down the length of her legs, raising goosebumps. Immediately moving back, Zayn forcibly turns his attention to his paint. Coating a brush thickly with emerald paint, nearly the same shade as her eyes, he begins to trace patterns onto her backside.

The cold of the paint is a shock. The wisp of bristles over her skin is possibly the most erotic thing she's ever felt. Closing her eyes, centering her concentration on the strokes of the brush, her arousal swiftly builds. She's desperate for more but loathe to hurry him. 

Crouching to finish painting her legs, Zayn knows he won't be able to hold onto his control much longer. He nearly loses it when he glances up after the last stroke to her calf and sees a telltale glistening between her thighs. Tossing the brush in the vicinity of the coffee table, he stands and tugs her to the canvas.

"How exactly am I supposed to get down there without messing anything up?" She asks, genuinely perplexed. 

“Lay on your stomach and roll over carefully.” His eyes are on her breasts, teeth toying with his lip _again_. He’s teasing her, perhaps without realizing it, though the gleam in his eye suggests otherwise. 

_Two can play this game._ Taking matters into her own hands, she leans in, eyes on his lips. Tilting her head, she playfully nips at what she’s been dying to taste since he opened his door. Before she can back away, he captures her, hand gripping the base of her skull, and sinks in. Their lips meld together, setting off sparks behind her closed eyes. The tip of his tongue teases her, asking for entrance. Moaning, she opens to him, giving him access. Tongues duel; teeth nip; lips slip and slide against each other. Panting, she breaks away, laying a finger against his mouth when his lips chase hers. “If we don’t stop now, you’ll have painted me for nothing.” 

He growls. “I don’t know that I care.” But he stops, and she turns to the canvas.

She slowly bends at her waist, thankful for her love of yoga, and walks her hands forward until she’s on her knees, ass cheeks jiggling in his face. An involuntary giggle escapes at a quietly whispered “Fuck _me_.”

She glances back to give him a wink and drawls, “I intend to, darlin’.” 

The minx knows what she’s doing. Zayn is critically close to his breaking point. That ass, covered in designs _he’d_ painted, and the swollen, wet lips between those sleek thighs are calling to him, tempting him beyond belief. His mouth is actually watering, imagining what she tastes like. His fingers are tingling, imagining the softness of her skin. He has to pop the button on his jeans to give his dick some relief. 

Before rolling to her back, she asks, “How should I position myself? Do you want my arms or legs a certain way?” 

Zayn takes a minute to formulate an answer, because _God, yes, around me, over my shoulders, or hell, stay on your knees_ may not be the appropriate answer. Clearing his throat, he says hoarsely, “I think… like you’re about to start a snow angel?”

Nodding in understanding, she slowly, oh so carefully, rolls to her back, arms canted out in a ‘v’ bracketing her hips, legs mostly closed. When she’s satisfied, she looks him over, from bare feet to clenched fists to the head of his cock, peeking out from the waistband of his pants. She can’t hold in the whimper that escapes; the need to feel him is too much. Raising her eyes to his, meeting his smoldering gaze with the fire in her own, she spreads her legs and fans her arms up, completing the snow angel design, leaving herself open to his hungry gaze. 

That’s it. That’s the breaking point. Zayn nearly collapses to his knees. He crawls forward, eyes intent on her center. Stopping between her thighs, he looks up, catching her gaze, silently seeking permission. 

Her hips buck, the only response she can form in that moment. If she doesn't get some relief soon, she's going to scream. "Please...," she whispers, trailing off as his hands slide up, his thumbs spreading her lips, his flattened tongue tasting her from bottom to top. Already, she's on the threshold, and she buries her fingers into his thick hair, holding him in place. "Yes, God...." she moans.

Her knees come up and Zayn wraps his arms around her thighs, anchoring her, devouring her. Her taste is intoxicating: a little sweet, a little sour. He works her like he doesn't want to lose a drop. He can hear her feet scrambling to find purchase on the paint-slicked canvas as his tongue, his lips create magic. The sounds of her unraveling has his dick swelling, the ache growing painful. 

Suddenly, he sucks down hard on her clit and slips two fingers inside her, rubbing sensitive nerves, and she breaks. Her fingers clench in his hair, her hips grind erratically against him, as she rides out the waves washing over her.

Zayn laps up the wetness, savoring her taste. "So good." Her hips jerk in response, and he smirks. He sits up and sinks back against his heels, surveying his handiwork. She's gorgeous, all splayed out and boneless. 

Her hands come up, fingers wiggling, and she asks, "Help me up?" Zayn grabs her hands and pulls her to a sitting position. He watches her lithe body as she stands gracefully, watches her lips as she teases, "Come on, stand up. You're a little overdressed." His favorite jeans are ruined, he notices, as he stands. Streaks of green on his knees stand out against the stonewashed background. He forgets about everything the moment her hand cups him. "I think you've earned a little attention." 

She unzips him and pushes down pants and boxers, freeing him. He steps free as she watches. The sight of him, thick, long and so hard, has her growing damp again, already. The thought of feeling him sliding in and out, filling her, has her thighs clenching. Her hand grips him, strokes up slowly, fingers tightening as he shudders and curses under her touch. 

She strokes down, down to cup his balls, rolling them, and lowers herself to her knees; she can’t resist first stopping to place a bite, a soothing lick, and a kiss to the center of his chest. From her vantage point, she looks up to see hooded, burning eyes, the errant strand of hair falling over his forehead, and teeth pierced lips, pink and white from the pressure. His well-defined chest is visibly rising and falling as he watches her watching him. 

He pulls the paintbrush out of her hair, threading his fingers through the tumbling curls, cupping her head. Her eyes drop to the silky, hard shaft in front of her. The drop of salty liquid on his head is more temptation than she's willing to resist. The tip of her tongue darts out to catch it, tracing over the slit there. 

Zayn's fingers tighten in her hair as he bites back a curse, the need to fuck into her mouth nearly overwhelming him. Her lips part, and his hips jerk in surprise when her teeth scrape along a vein running along his length before she swallows him down, coming back up immediately to swirl her tongue and suck down on his head. 

A shout reverberates through the room. Zayn struggles to stay still, his hand guiding her, while her tongue, her teeth, her lips torture him. He looks down to watch himself sliding in and out of her plump lips, her cheeks hollowing, and realizes she's riding her own fingers. 

He tugs on her hair roughly, barking out, "Show me your fingers." Taking a hold of her wrist, he leans down to suck the juices coating them. He squeezes himself and growls, "Turn around. Crawl back onto the canvas." He gives a satisfied groan at the sight of her paint covered ass turned toward him. 

Kneeling between her open thighs, he pushes her down, until her head is pillowed on her hands, and her breasts are hanging heavily on the canvas. The artist in him is forced to pause, just for a second, to take a mental shot of the erotic scene before him. 

Her hips rock back, seeking, and the moment passes. Zayn grips a cheek with one hand and guides himself home with the other. Her mumbled sounds mix with his at the feel of hard heat slipping into wet tightness. His hips rock slowly, savoring the squeeze around him. He pulls out, thrusts shallowly, head barely moving, teasing screaming nerves around her hole, before slamming back in. 

She squeals. He leans over her and pounds into her, filling her, over and over, his chest plastered to her back. One arm wraps around her waist, fingers teasing her clit. His other fingers thread through hers wrapped around the edge of the canvas. Her pebbled nipples rub maddeningly against the cool paint, the rough canvas tormenting the sensitive nerves. The combination of sensations is too much, and she pushes back into his stuttering hips, her thighs squeezing his, as she chases her orgasm. 

"Come for me, love. Let me feel you. _Fuck_ , you feel so good." The pressure is at boiling point. He hears her keening wail and feels her walls clamp down around him. He bites her shoulder as he grunts his way through the explosion screaming through his veins. His hips pump uncontrollably, her pussy clenching, pulling him deep, milking every drop out of him. 

Spent, Zayn nuzzles her neck before pulling out and rolling to his side. "This should make for an interesting piece," he chuckles. 

Thoroughly sated, yet strangely, still hungry, she props on her elbow and starts tracing the tattoos visible under drying green paint. At that moment, the power flickers once before coming back on. She glances up and smiles. "I'm going to want to see the finished product. But first," she leans in to kiss him properly, "I seem to recall the mention of a shower?"

Zayn feels his dick twitch in response. He gives her a raised eyebrow, biting his lip with a hint of a smile. "I think that can be arranged."

****************************

She wants to cry, watching that poor girl on The Today Show talk about how cold it is and how much snow there is. This winter has been endless, dark, gray and cold and truthfully, she's tired of it.

Hell, she's just _tired_ , she thinks, giving her cat a scratch behind the ears and wishing she could stay in bed all day. Duty calls, however, so she bundles up for her trip to work, cursing when her jeans feel a little snug. "Fucking winter." She strips quickly, opting for some leggings and one of Zayn's button-downs that she snagged.

Relax. They're dating. 

Granted, the night in the cabin turned into a couple of nights… the two of them realizing they had a lot in common made it a no-brainer to stay until the weather was better.

It never got better, but they did return to New York, where they happen to live blocks from each other in Brooklyn. What started as date nights a few times a week quickly progressed into date nights every night. Being with Zayn was the best kind of intoxication, she thinks wistfully as she buttons the shirt.

Kind-of. She leaves a couple undone, the flannel tight around her breasts. She curses him for being smaller than her but quickly apologizes, feeling guilty for even having a negative thought about him.

Maybe it's the date nights that have caused her to gain weight, she thinks, still pissed about her jeans. She'll have to start cooking healthier for the two of them and vows to find some recipes on Pinterest as soon as she gets to work.

**Babe dinner at my place tonight? Feel like painting ;)**

Zayn's art show last week was unlike anything she'd experienced. He'd shown the painting they did that night in the cabin, as well as another they did the following night (where she turned the artist into the art); she knows he has another show in about a month and can't say she minds being his subject.

Everything they say about artists is true, she confirms to her friends. Zayn is moody and dark and sometimes too emo but he's also passionate and treats her like she's the only person in a room of hundreds.

This, only after a little more than a month of dating? She's beginning to wonder if he's too good to be true.

**Need me to pick up anything?**

It's a while before he answers; she's already two-thirds of the way through her day. 

**Bread and wine? Making Italian.**

She's dragging, exhausted, grumbling to her friends about the weather and just the fuckery that has been this winter in the northeast. Her friends all know the trials of the weather, scattered around the eastern seaboard and also dealing with the ice and the snow. They know every detail about Zayn, and are eager to meet the man that has made their friend so happy (despite the weather).

She wanders through the market, staring at all of the different sorts of breads when it hits her. _Bathroom. Now._ With panicked eyes, she darts through the store to the ladies room, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits. The moment passes as soon as it arrived; she takes a few soothing breaths and washes her hands before she's brave enough to step back into the store.

On her way back to the bakery, she stalls. She didn't eat anything unusual today (turkey sandwich on wheat, plain). Zayn hadn't been sick and neither had any of her coworkers. She wanders aimlessly for a moment, her brain racing through various scenarios.

Stomach bug. No? She feels fine now, although she would like to brush her teeth.

Flu. Maybe? She has been tired, but without that achy, miserable feeling. Plus, she also had a flu shot.

Food poisoning. No way. At least, she doesn't think so.

It hits her almost as fast as the nausea. _Pregnancy._

_Oh my God._ She pulls the packet of pills out of her handbag, counting more pills than she should. She's always been a bit lazy with medications, and well, she hadn't been with anyone in a long time before she met Zayn.

_Zayn! Shit!_

Swallowing the panic, she quickly throws a pregnancy test in her basket before making a beeline for the bakery. She picks out some bread and stares at the wine aisle before picking up some bottle she's never heard of before and adding it to her basket.

Zayn's flat is closer than hers; she tucks the test in her handbag. She'll worry about it later, when she's in the safety of her own flat. She's not sure _how_ she'll last that long, but figures Zayn will be a good distraction.

"Hey babe," he greets her, taking her grocery sack and pulling her in for a kiss. It heats quickly before they break, a bit breathless. "How is it always like this?" He looks at her with awe, and she sighs happily.

Seriously, they're disgusting.

He helps her with her coat and chuckles when he notices his shirt. His eyes immediately catch on her cleavage; his hands reaching to grab before she can even blink. "Damn, babe. If your tits look this good in my clothes, take some more," he says hungrily, giving her boobs a little massage. 

What normally feels good - hurts. She hides a wince at how tender they are under his touch. 

She doesn't hide well enough; Zayn stops and gives her a pointed look. "What's wrong? You look pale all of the sudden."

She can't even form words before she's pushing past him, through his bedroom into the bathroom, puking. Again.

"Babe?" His voice is quiet as he stands behind her, holding her hair and stroking her back. "Can I get you anything?"

"My purse." She can't bear to wait another moment and figures he's already seen her puking; how much worse can it get? She tries to calm herself, inhaling deeply as she leans against the sink.

Zayn holds her purse out gingerly. "You left it open." She takes the handbag, unashamed at the box sticking out between the zips. She turns away from him, setting her bag on the counter. "Babe?"

She looks up at him in the mirror. "I don't know. I just threw up earlier and clothes don't fit and my boobs hurt and I'm tired and can you just give me some privacy?" Zayn watches her ramble and steps back, allowing her to close the door in his face. She knows he's on the other side of the door; she can hear him slide down, the door rattling as he presses against it.

She opens the box, glancing at the instructions and sits on the toilet. Then she waits.

After a small nervous breakdown, she steels herself for her confrontation with Zayn. When she finally opens the door, she's surprised when Zayn isn't sitting there. He's on his couch, sketching. She curls up next to him, looking over his shoulder at his sketch.

It's her.

Tears spring to her eyes when she realizes Zayn is drawing _her_ , a version of her with a swollen belly. She sits quietly as he draws, adding flowers to her hair, drawing himself standing next to her, holding her hand. The tears flow freely when he writes a message at the bottom.

**_One day..._ **

He sets his sketch pad on the table and pulls her into his lap, still clutching the pregnancy test in her hand. "You do realize you bought non-alcoholic wine and literal buns that I've already put in the oven, right?"

She giggles through her tears, shaking her head. "Someone must've been trying to tell us something." She opens her fist, the word _PREGNANT_ glowing like neon against her pale skin.

Zayn sits, momentarily stunned, before kissing her with every ounce of passion he must possess; she can feel it in every fiber of her being. "You know what we're going to do after dinner?"

She eyes him carefully. "What?"

He smirks and she places her hands on his face, wanting to feel him, be connected (despite the fact that she's curled in his lap at the moment). "I'm going to paint the mother of my unborn child," he says, placing his hand on her tummy. "And then I'm going to make love to my future wife."


End file.
